Collateral Damage
by Athena Alexandria
Summary: AU. Post HITH. Booth and Brennan attempt to redefine their relationship after Booth is critically wounded while trying to apprehend Broadsky; however their fledging romance is put to the test when Broadsky resurfaces, targeting someone close to them.
1. Chapter 1

_After a short break, I'm back with a new fic as promised. It's AU again, beginning with The Hole in the Heart this time, but as with my last fic I've only changed one detail: in this case, the outcome of Booth's sniper duel with Broadsky. Vincent is still dead, Angela is still pregnant with the (adorable) baby boy that we now know as Michael Staccato Vincent Hodgins, and as for Brennan, well you'll have to wait and see. ;)_

_Thanks as always to my wonderful beta, uscgal04, for helping me brainstorm ideas this fic and for finding a creative way to edit this chapter in spite of computer/Internet issues.  
><em>

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><p>Chapter 1.<p>

"Bones? Bones, wake up," Booth's voice said, pulling Brennan out of the peaceful oblivion that had finally washed over her just as the sun began to rise.

She groaned and burrowed deeper under the covers, fighting to stay asleep.

"Bones." This time he nudged her shoulder, shaking her gently. "Come on, sleepyhead, it's time for you to get up."

Brennan opened her eyes slowly. Booth was sitting on the edge of the mattress, dressed only in the sweatpants that he'd worn to bed the night before.

He grinned when he saw that his attempts to rouse her had been successful."Morning. I made you some coffee." He pointed to the dresser where he'd placed two steaming mugs, including the 'World's Greatest Dad' one that Parker had given him for Father's Day once, which she couldn't help finding endearing despite its ridiculously hyperbolic claim.

It wasn't until she sat up to accept it that she remembered that she was completely naked herself; that after more than seven years of making excuses, she was finally here in his bed like she'd so often fantasised about. Brennan had never been one for modesty where the human body was concerned, but she felt strangely shy now, arranging herself so that she was leaning back against the headboard, the sheet tucked firmly under her arms.

She took her coffee from him and sipped it, unsure of what to say now that it was done and there was no going back. It hadn't been her intention to sleep with him when she agreed to spend the night at his apartment and she doubted that this was what he'd had in mind either. What if he already regretted what had happened? What if he thought it was some kind of grief-induced mistake, never to be repeated?

"I'm sorry I had to wake you up when you only just got to sleep," he told her, sounding genuinely remorseful, "but I need to get over to the Hoover soon and I'd feel better if you'd let me drop you off at the lab on the way. The last thing I need today is to be worrying about whether you made it to work safely."

His protectiveness was nothing new, but still, she was touched by his concern. It was one of the things about him that she'd missed the most when they were on separate continents. "It's okay. I understand." She was relieved that he hadn't snuck out while she was asleep and left her to wake up alone, not that she really expected him to. He had always told her that having sex should mean something, and for the first time in her life, she felt like it did. Although if she was honest with herself, she wasn't sure what that was, exactly.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, a little too politely considering that he had been tangled up naked in bed with her only an hour before. She wondered if he felt as confused and overwhelmed as she did. "Because I could whip us up some breakfast. I think there're still some eggs in the fridge."

She shook her head firmly. "No." Her stomach was still too unsettled to eat. She didn't know if she would be able to keep anything down until Broadsky was somewhere where he couldn't hurt anyone else.

"Me either," he admitted_._"But maybe when I'm done with Broadsky, we can grab an early dinner together?"

His hopeful expression made her wonder if his desire to share a meal with her was about more than upholding their end-of-case ritual. In her experience, sex usually came with the expectation of a relationship of some kind, but were they really ready for that?

He was still waiting for an answer so she decided to ignore those niggling doubts and just focus on being here in the moment with him. "I would like that," she told him with a sincere smile.

She knew that she'd said the right thing when his face split into a broad grin. "It's a date."

The word caused her heart to beat faster like she was on the verge of a myocardial infarction. She watched his eyes dart down to her lips, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, but he stood up suddenly.

"You probably wanna take a shower," he told her, rubbing the back of his neck; she flushed at the memory of stroking the same spot as he kissed his way down her body, so reverently that she was afraid she would start crying again. "I'll see if I can find you a towel."

He turned to go, but she couldn't let him leave without acknowledging that something out of the ordinary had happened between them. "We had intercourse last night," she called after him.

She wasn't sure what convinced her to phrase it that way when she knew he hated that term. Whenever she'd slept with someone in the past, it had been about mutual gratification – satisfying an urge, scratching a metaphorical itch – but this time was different: desperate and raw, more need than want. She'd needed him to prove to her that what he said was true, that two objects really could occupy the same space, even if it was only for one night. Initiating a spontaneous sexual encounter with her partner without considering the potential consequences was the most out of control thing that she'd ever done and she wasn't one hundred per cent sure that she didn't regret it yet.

"I know, Bones, I was there," he reminded her, but she could see the amusement in his eyes.

"Shouldn't we talk about that?" she pressed. It felt strange to be the one instigating the discussion when she'd always done her best to avoid it before, both with him and all of the other men that she'd been romantically involved with.

He came back over to where she was sitting, perching on the edge of the bed. "Listen, Bones," he said, taking one of her hands in each of his and squeezing them gently. "I'm going after Broadsky today and I need to be able to do that with a clear head. But you're right, we should definitely talk about this, so do you think maybe you can hold that thought until tonight? Then I promise I'm all yours."

His phrasing wasn't lost on her, although it was possible that he'd only meant it as a figure of speech. "Thoughts are intangible, Booth," she pointed out, more out of habit than anything else.

"I didn't mean you should hold it _literally_. Just, you know, wait until then to say whatever it is that you're gonna say."

"You're asking me if I would mind deferring the conversation to a more suitable time?"she supplied.

"Is that okay?" He studied her face intently, as though he were trying to see past it into her mind.

"Yes, of course," she agreed. She needed him to have a clear head too. Losing him yesterday would have been hard, but the thought of losing him today before they had a chance to figure this out was devastating. "I can wait. Broadsky can't."

His relief was palpable, the tension between them dissipating as he cupped the side of her jaw in his palm. He smiled warmly and leant in, kissing her just like she'd wanted him to a few moments before. "You are amazing, Bones," he told her softly. "I swear I'm gonna make it up to you when all of this is over."

She didn't know what he was planning, but she was looking forward to finding out.

They took turns using the bathroom, and once they were both showered and dressed, he escorted her home so that she could change into a fresh outfit for work.

When they reached the Jeffersonian, he insisted on driving her right up to the staff entrance in the underground parking lot so that she only had to walk ten feet before she was inside the building.

For a moment they just sat there in silence while the engine idled.

Finally, staring down at her clasped hands, she began. "Booth…" She wanted to tell him how she felt in case she never got another chance but the words stuck in her throat.

"It's okay, Bones, I know. I'll be careful," he assured her. "But you need to be careful too, okay? Promise me you'll stay in the lab until someone calls and tells you its safe."

She nodded. "I promise," she agreed even though she wasn't sure that the lab was safe for them anymore. Just the thought of walking up onto the platform, stained red with Vincent's blood only the day before, made her shudder. It was one thing to visit a crime scene; another to have your work place turn into one. Maybe she'd stay in the bone room today.

"Make sure Cam and Angela and Hodgins do, too."

She nodded again. "We'll be fine, Booth. You need to focus on Broadsky. He deserves to be punished for what he did to Vincent and his other victims. You're the only one of us who can make sure that that happens."

He offered her a strained smile. "Wish me luck?"

"You're going to need more than luck," she insisted.

"Good thing I'm a kick ass sniper," he quipped.

She knew that he was trying to make her feel better by downplaying his own fear. She leant over the gearstick, winding her fingers around the back of his neck, and kissed him passionately, hoping that her actions would convey to him what her words could not.

"Wow, what was that for?" he asked when she released him.

His dopey grin brought a smile to her own face. "I find that I enjoy kissing you,"she admitted.

"I enjoy kissing you too, Bones." As if to demonstrate his point, he pulled her into another lingering kiss. Brennan had never been fond of public displays of affection, but for the first time that she could recall, she wasn't concerned about anyone seeing them.

He pulled away from her slowly, dropping one final peck on her lips as he did. _"_As much as I would love to stay and continue this, I really have to go," he told her ruefully. "But I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Tonight," she agreed with more confidence than she felt. He had enough to worry about without adding her to that list as well. She opened her door and slid out. Then, steeling herself, she turned and walked inside, refusing to look back at him as he drove away.

_Tonight_, she repeated to herself like a mantra. She would see him tonight.

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><p>After he left, she tried to concentrate on examining the bones of the most recent victim in the hopes of discovering some information that might help him. It was all she could do to keep herself from picking up the phone and calling him every few minutes to make sure that he was still okay, or worse, hailing a cab and going after him. She felt like she finally understood what Rebecca must have been through back when he'd served as a Ranger. While she had faith in his exceptional skills both as an agent and a sniper, she knew that she wouldn't be able to fully relax until she saw him again and they could start putting this whole horrible chapter of their lives behind them.<p>

She was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she didn't even notice that she'd made the same observation to Angela twice in the space of an hour.

"Is this because of Vincent?" her friend wanted to know.

"Yes," she agreed. But that wasn't true. Vincent was only part of the reason for her inattention. "And… I got into bed with Booth last night."

She almost regretted her decision to confide in her friend when instead of offering up her opinion like she usually did, she just stood there gaping at her as though Brennan had just confessed to murdering the victim herself. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"Because I don't want to say 'Hallelujah' so close to losing Vincent."

"I think I did it because of Vincent," Brennan admitted. If the Lauren Eames case hadn't already impressed upon her how short life was, then watching her favourite intern bleed out right in front of her certainly had.

It took Angela several attempts to formulate an intelligible sentence. "What exactly happened after you crawled into bed with Booth?" she pressed.

Brennan smiled at the memory, but before she could answer her friend's question, Hodgins unceremoniously interrupted them with what he claimed was a break in the case.

"Spill," was all her friend said once she'd managed to shoo him away. "And don't even think about pretending that you don't know what that means."

Angela listened with rapt attention while she recounted the events of the night before, from Booth's insistence that she stay with him, to the goodbye kisses they'd shared in his SUV before he went to capture Broadsky.

"What was it like?" Angela asked when she finished her story.

"It was like nothing I've ever experienced before, Ange." Somehow their first time making love together had been strange and comforting, new and familiar, all at the same time. Strange and new because they were finally stepping over the imaginary line that they'd drawn in the early days of their partnership, and familiar and comforting because, well, it was with Booth and they knew each other better than anyone else.

Angela hugged her as tightly as her swollen abdomen would allow. "I'm so happy for you, sweetie."

"Because I had sex?" Brennan asked, confused. It had been a long time; not since before that night by the reflecting pool when Booth begged her to give them chance. Since then she'd found it difficult to imagine being with anyone else, even after he'd almost crushed the fragile hope budding inside of her by telling her that he loved Hannah and that she wasn't a consolation prize. Regardless of what happened after today, it felt fitting that it was with Booth that she'd finally ended her self-imposed celibacy, as though it was him that she'd been waiting for all along.

"Because you had sex, with _Booth_," Angela corrected her. "What does this even mean? Are you two a couple now? Please tell me that you are."

Brennan considered the question, her mind wandering back to the only real conversation that they'd ever had on the subject, back when they were trapped in his elevator during the blizzard.

"_I always assumed that we'd be very compatible. Didn't you?"_

"_Well, yeah."_

"_Because we're both so physical."_

"_Right. The way we throw ourselves into a case."_

"_We both have excellent stamina. Making love would be quite satisfying."_

"_Yeah. But then what? I mean, as a couple, me and you would never…"_

"_No, it wouldn't work."_

Based on his words, he expected her to agree, so she had, but was that really true? Then again, less than twelve hours had passed since they'd slept together and it was already affecting her ability to do her job.

"I don't know," Brennan admitted. She wouldn't until she talked to him about it tonight. "That depends on whether Booth survives his encounter with Broadsky." She tried to keep her voice matter of fact, like the possibility that he wouldn't wasn't something that she'd really considered, but she could tell by her friend's sympathetic expression that she wasn't fooled.

"He'll survive," Angela assured her. "Don't you worry about that."

"You don't know that," Brennan argued, dropping all pretence of calmness. Everyone that she'd ever loved had left her eventually. What reason did she have to think that Booth would be any different?

"Yeah, I do," her friend insisted.

Brennan wished that she could believe that with the same certainty. "How?"

"Because you gave him something worth living for," Angela explained. "He's wanted you practically from the moment he laid eyes on you, and now that he finally has you? He's not going to give that up without a fight."

* * *

><p>Despite Angela's assurances that Booth would be fine, when Brennan's cell rang later that day, she pounced on it. "Brennan."<p>

She wasn't the only one eager for news; a tense silent fell over the lounge as the rest of what Booth had affectionately termed the 'Squint Squad' waited impatiently for her to get off the phone.

"Temperance, it's Andrew."

The moment she heard Andrew Hacker's voice on the other end of the line Brennan knew that something was wrong. Not only did he sound grave, but it didn't make any sense for an assistant director of the FBI to call her with an update when he could have one of his subordinates like Agent Shaw do it.

Conscious that the others were listening in, she got up and walked away from the table. "Andrew, what happened? Is Booth okay?"

When she looked back over at the group, they were all watching her with expressions ranging from apprehension (Cam) to fear (Angela). She turned her back on them to try to give herself a modicum of privacy, and so that none of them would see the thin sheen of tears forming in her eyes as she waited for Hacker to fill her in on her partner's condition.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Andrew, are you still there?" she asked, struggling to curtail her panic. The creeping sense of horror that she'd felt ever since Broadsky's bullet tore through the roof of her sanctuary and killed Vincent began to bubble to the surface again. "Where's Booth? Can I speak to him?"

He drew in a heavy breath, expelling it slowly. "Listen, Temperance, I'm so sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but…"

Her whole body tensed in response to his words as though it were anticipating a physical blow. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not when they had a date. Not when they were _finally_ on the verge of becoming more than 'just partners'.

"Something went wrong while Booth was trying to apprehend Broadsky. There was a gunfight, and, well, Booth was shot. He's on his way to the hospital now."

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><p><em>Next chapter: Everyone goes to the hospital and Brennan reflects on the events of the night before...<br>_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited the first chapter. I had hoped to post this chapter sooner but both myself and my beta have been busy with RL stuff. I keep forgetting to mention this, but if anyone wants to follow me on twitter or tweet me questions about updates, etc, you can find me at _http : / twitter. com / # ! / Athena Alex _(minus the spaces)._

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><p>Chapter 2.<p>

Brennan thanked Andrew flatly and ended the call. "I… I have to go," she announced, unable to turn and face the little group assembled behind her. She felt numb, still too shocked to react to the news with anything other than a muted sense of detachment. She had dreaded exactly this since she and Booth parted ways in the parking garage, expected it even, but that hadn't prepared her for actually hearing the words.

"Not until you tell us what's going on," Angela insisted.

Brennan glanced from her to the concerned faces of their friends. Everyone here cared about Booth. They deserved to know what happened to him. "Broadsky shot Booth," she explained, keeping her voice as emotionless as possible. It was irrational to jump to conclusions before she listened to what Booth's doctors had to say. Her mind knew this. Her heart, well that was a different story.

A stunned silence fell over the group. Angela covered her mouth, aghast.

"Oh God," Cam whispered. "This can't be happening."

The colour drained from Sweets' face as he slumped down in his seat, visibly shaken.

"But he's okay? I mean, he's alive, right?" Hodgins, the calmest of the group, asked.

"Yes. For now," Brennan agreed, grateful for the opportunity to focus on the few facts that Andrew had given her rather than her own reaction to them. "I won't know any more until I get to the hospital."

Sweets stood up first. "We should all go," he said, looking around the room at their friends. "You shouldn't be alone at a time like this."

There was a flurry of movement as everyone stood and gathered their things, preparing to leave.

It was difficult enough for Brennan to stay rational and remain focused on what she knew Booth needed her to do without having to answer well-intentioned questions that would force her to examine her emotional state. "Thank you, Dr. Sweets, but that won't be necessary," she assured him. "I'll call you once I have more information."

"Like hell you will," Angela piped up in a steely voice that caught Brennan off guard, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We're a family, Bren, and families support each other. Hodgins and I will drive you. Cam, you and Sweets can follow behind."

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><p>Booth was in surgery by the time they arrived at the hospital. When the woman on the reception desk dismissed her without answering her questions, Brennan moved on to the nurses, demanding that someone fill her in on the extent of his injuries, but all anyone could or would tell her was what she already knew: that he had been brought in with a gunshot wound, that his condition was listed as critical, and that the doctors were operating on him as they spoke.<p>

Brennan could feel her friends watching her as she paced the perimeter of the waiting area in between trips to the nurses' station. Most of them knew her by sight now, seeming to choose the moment they saw her approaching to remember their rounds.

"Come sit down, sweetie," Angela said, patting the chair next to hers. "You're making me dizzy."

Brennan shot a brief glance in her direction, but was too agitated to stay still. "I don't understand why it's taking this long to extract a bullet," she said, a sharp edge creeping into her tone. The longer Booth was in the OR, the more anxious she felt. She imagined him flat lining like he had at one point during his brain surgery. They wanted her to leave then, but determined to keep her promise to him, she refused, staying with him until he woke from his coma four days later.

"I'm sure they're doing everything they can," Hodgins said.

"This is one of the best medical care facilities in DC," Cam reminded her.

"Agent Booth is in good hands," Sweets agreed.

Even so, Brennan wished that Booth's doctors had allowed her to sit in on this surgery too, or at the very least, informed her of their intended approach. He had been right when he surmised that it wasn't in her nature to sit around reading old magazines while someone else saved his life.

* * *

><p>"<em>You said I had it all wrong, but you're the one who's wrong, Booth. I'm not a good person," Brennan insisted without looking at him once her tears had finally subsided.<em>

_She felt his hand still against her, no longer massaging her arm in soothing circles. "Hey, why would you even think that?" he asked, drawing her tighter against his chest. "You catch murderers for a living."_

"_I__'__m__ not__ a__ good__ person__ because__ I__'__m __relieved__ that__ he__'__s__ dead,__" __she__ explained, __cringing__ at__ how__ much__ worse __it__ sounded__ when__ she__ said __it__ out __loud.__ She__ truly_ was_ a__ terrible__ person._

"_Is this about Vincent?" Booth asked, sounding slightly bewildered by her confused ramblings. "There's nothing we could've done. You shouldn't beat yourself up for not wanting him to suffer any more than he had to."_

_He didn't get it because he was warm and selfless and brave, not cold and selfish and fearful like her. She tilted her head so that she could see his face. "Broadsky was aiming for you, but he got Vincent instead. I should be sorry about that, but I'm not. Not enough. I'm just so glad it wasn't you, or me," she confessed. "What kind of person does it make me if I'm glad that a young man is dead?"_

"_That__'__s__ what__ this __is__ about?__" __Booth__ asked,__ finally __seeming__ to__ catch__ on__ to__ her__ train__ of__ thought.__ "__You__ feel__ responsible__ for__ choosing __my __life__ over__ his?__ Bones,__ you__ didn__'__t__ kill__ Vincent.__ I__ didn__'__t__ kill__ Vincent._ Broadsky_ killed__ Vincent.__ To__ think__ anything __else__ is__ just__… __inconsistent __with__ the__ evidence,__" __he __finished__ with__ the__ ghost__ of__ a__ smile.__ "__What__ happened__ to__ Vincent __is__ awful,__ I __know, __but __this __isn__'__t __one__ of__ your__ syllo-things,__ okay?__ You__ being__ glad__ we__'__re __alive__ doesn__'__t__ mean __you__'__re__ glad__ that__ he__'__s__ dead.__"_

_Intellectually, she knew that what he was saying was true, but that didn't mean that it wasn't at least partially her fault. Vincent wouldn't have been in the lab, working on that case, if it wasn't for her. He died because of the choices she'd made, foremost of which was her partnership with Booth. Everything was fine until they started working together, and now Zack was in an institution and Vincent was dead._

"_He almost killed you," she reminded Booth tearfully. Her stomach clenched and bile rose in her throat at the thought of how close Broadsky had come to hitting his intended target; how close she had come to losing her partner forever. "If you had answered that call instead of Vincent…"_

"_But he didn't." He covered her hand with his larger one, shifting it so that it rested over his heart, to where she could feel the steady thrum of it beating beneath her fingertips through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. "I'm fine, see? I'm right here."_

_For now, her mind screamed. "But he still could," she insisted, her voice rising, taking on a note of hysteria as she tried to keep from crying again. "Tomorrow you could be dead."_

_Tomorrow she could be sobbing alone in her own bed while he lay in a morgue somewhere awaiting collection just like Vincent was tonight. The worst part of all of it – even worse than the thought of never seeing him again – was that if that happened, he would have died without ever understanding how she really felt about him. He already knew that she regretted turning him down that night by the reflecting pool, but she doubted he realised how much that decision had tormented her ever since._

"_I'm not gonna let that happen, Bones," he told her, hugging her closer._

"_You can't promise that, Booth," she argued, refusing to be consoled. "Broadsky is dangerous."_

_A wry grin spread over his face. "Yeah, well so am I."_

_When they first met, she'd hated his cockiness – arrogance, she'd called it back then – but eventually he'd won her over with it, as more often than not, he'd proved that he was really that good at what he did. Tonight, though, she hated it again because one day, if he wasn't careful, it could be the thing that took him away from her._

_She pushed herself up onto her elbow, looking down at him. He watching her with such tenderness that before she could think about what she was doing, she leant over him, placing her lips experimentally on his. He didn't resist, closing his eyes; slowly his mouth began to move against hers as he warmed to the kiss, both hands cupping the back of her head, his fingers tangling lightly in her hair._

_Then, without warning, he sat up, pushing her off gently. "Bones, listen to me. I am not gonna die."_

"_You did before," she reminded him. When she tried to close her eyes earlier, it wasn't just Vincent that she saw, but him, lying there staring up at her blankly, his blood – his life – draining out between her fingers. She had relived that moment so many times in her nightmares: the desperation of watching him slip further and further away from her as she waited for the ambulance to arrive, the horror of knowing that his fate was beyond her control, the complete and utter desolation of hearing those two life-shattering words._

_He's gone._

_You died and left me all alone, she desperately wanted to tell him, suppressing a fresh wave of terror. She wouldn't survive it again. Not now, not when it had almost destroyed her the first time. Not when they were so close to achieving what they'd always dreamed of._

_Her hair was still mussed from the kiss; he reached over to brush the bangs out of her eyes, tracing the side of her face with his fingertips. "I know, and I'm sorry you had to go through that, but I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere. Metaphorically, because I have to get up and go to work in a few hours."_

"_To kill Broadsky," she finished._

"_Something like that," he agreed with a tight smile. She followed his gaze to the glowing display on his alarm clock. It was after five am. "The sun will be up soon. We should try to get some sleep."_

_He settled himself comfortably on his back and she snuggled into him again and they lay in silence for a few moments, the only sound in the room their competing breaths._

"_You said you were here for me, right? For whatever I need?" she asked finally, breaking the stillness._

"_Anything, Bones," he agreed. "You know that."_

_Emboldened by his promise, Brennan lifted her head, locking eyes with him so that he would know that she was serious. "Make love to me," she whispered. She didn't want to have any more regrets. She couldn't risk either of them dying without experiencing this first; without finding out if they really could break the laws of physics together the way he described._

"_No, Bones, I can't. Not like this, with you all upset," he told her gently. "The first time we make love, it should be special."_

_Brennan couldn't help noticing the subtle shift in his words, how what had once been merely hypothetical was now inevitable._

_Everything__ happens__ eventually, __he__ had__ told __her.__ Even__ this._ Especially _this._

"_Please,__ Booth. __I__ know __you__'__re __still __angry__ and__ I__'__m __far __from__ impervious,__ but __this __is__ what__ I__ need.__ I __need_ you_.__"_

_Please don't push me away again, she added silently._

_He stared at her for a long moment as though he were trying to read something in her expression. "Bones, if we do this… I can't lose you again," he finished simply._

_She was tired of running – from him, from this – when all it had ever brought her was more pain. "You won't," she assured him. "No more regrets."_

_Before he could voice anything further, she brought her mouth back down to his, sealing it with an insistent kiss, and after that, his lips only left hers long enough for him to peel his sweatshirt from her body and toss it to the floor with the rest of their clothes._

* * *

><p>A shadow fell over Brennan, snapping her out of her reverie. Angela was standing in front of her, nursing a Styrofoam cup in each hand.<p>

"You shouldn't be drinking coffee, Ange," Brennan reminded her absently, accepting hers so that her friend could sit down.

"Mine's decaf," Angela assured her, making a face as she eased herself into the chair beside Brennan's. "Lucky me. Did I miss anything?"

She sounded so hopeful; Brennan hated to have to be the one to ruin that. She shook her head slowly, staring down into the murky brown depths of her coffee without taking a sip. "No. Booth is still in surgery. They don't know when he'll be out."

"What about you? How're you holding up?" Angela asked, scrutinising her with a concerned expression.

It was exactly the kind of question that Brennan had hoped to avoid by coming alone. "I'm not the one who got shot," she reminded her. It didn't matter how she was. All that mattered was that Booth was okay.

"Sweetie, the man you love is in there fighting for his life. This is one of those times when you're allowed to fall apart. In fact, it's pretty much expected."

Except that she couldn't, because without Booth, who would be there to pick up the metaphorical pieces?"What purpose would it serve?" Brennan insisted. It wouldn't change the outcome. The only thing that could save him was medical intervention.

"Not everything you do has to have a purpose, Bren," Angela told her gently. "Sometimes you just need a good cry. You know, to let it all out."

As she mulled over her friend's words, Brennan was hit by the memory of breaking down in Booth's car the night she solved the Eames case, when she thought it was all over for them. That was the first and only time she'd ever allowed herself to cry – really cry – over him. Of course that pain didn't compare to the agony she felt now. She hadn't felt like this since the last time he went and got himself shot.

"What if…?" She pressed her eyelids together, willing herself not to lose it. She would fall apart later, after the surgery, when she was alone. "What if he doesn't make it? Vincent didn't."

"Don't say it, Bren," Angela insisted, tearing up herself. "Don't even think it. Booth is gonna be fine."

"It's all I _can_ think," Brennan confessed. Ever since she got that phone call, she'd been trying to imagine what her life would be like without him in it and realising that she couldn't. At least when he was in Afghanistan she knew that he was still out there.

Angela picked up her hand, giving it a hard squeeze. "If he doesn't – and he will – at least he'll die knowing that you love him. You did tell him, right? Please tell me that you told him."

Brennan shook her head miserably.

"Oh, honey," Angela said, her face falling with a mixture of disappointment and pity. "Why not?"

Brennan shrugged. None of the reasons made sense anymore now that she might never see him again. "I don't know. I wanted to but I couldn't."

"You'll get another chance," Angela insisted, squeezing her hand again. "Nothing happens just once, right? You told me that."

Brennan nodded, trying to take solace in physics like she always had in the past.

"Temperance Brennan?" a male voice asked.

Brennan looked up to see a man in blue scrubs approaching, a surgical mask hanging loose around his neck. He hadn't taken his cap off which she took as a good sign.

She stood up. "That's me." She was surprised that he hadn't updated the forms while he was living with Hannah.

All around her, the others got to their feet.

"The surgery went well," Booth's doctor told Brennan. "We were able to remove the bullet and repair the damaged lung. His condition is still critical but his vital signs appear to have stabilised."

"What's his prognosis?" Brennan asked eagerly.

"It's too early to say for sure, but at this stage, we're optimistic, provided that there aren't any complications."

"Thank God," Angela breathed.

"Go, Booth," Hodgins muttered.

"That's awesome," Sweets said, breaking into a relieved grin.

"It is," Cam agreed.

"When can I see him?" Brennan asked, ignoring them.

"They're transferring him to the ICU now," the doctor explained. "May I ask what your relationship to Agent Booth is? With critical patients, we prefer to limit visitation to immediate family."

"I'm his…" What? Girlfriend? Lover? What did you call someone that you'd only slept with once? "We're partners," she finished lamely, letting him interpret this in whatever way he chose.

"Does Agent Booth have any other family in the area?" the doctor asked Brennan.

"Just a son, Parker. He's ten," Brennan told him. It was only then that it occurred to her that in all the commotion, she'd forgotten to call Rebecca and fill her in on what was happening. She would have to do that once she'd been in to see Booth.

"Since the man who shot Agent Booth is still at large, the FBI is drawing up a list of approved visitors," the doctor told them. "If your name is on it then I don't see the harm."

"It will be," Angela assured him from where she stood beside Brennan. "They know she'll kick their asses if it isn't."

* * *

><p>There was an agent posted on either side of the entrance to the intensive care unit when Brennan was allowed to go through. Conway and Leroy, she vaguely remembered hearing Booth call them, although she had never been very good at learning people's names.<p>

"Go ahead, Dr. Brennan," one – Conway? – said with a sympathetic smile.

"Thank you," she told him, flashing them a brief, strained smile in return.

Booth's bed was situated at the far end of the ward, next to a small window. Brennan approached it cautiously, mentally bracing herself for what she was about to see.

He could have been sleeping, if it weren't for the endotracheal tube snaking from his mouth to the mechanical ventilator at his side. Her gaze strayed down to the bandage taped to the right side of his chest, just inches away from his heart. "Oh, Booth," she whispered, blinking back tears. "What did he do to you?" It was hard to believe that he was the same healthy, virile man that she had made love with earlier.

She sat down in the chair closest to his bed and reached for his hand where it lay limply on top of the blankets. It was still warm, but his fingers didn't curl around hers the way they usually did. "There's something I need to tell you," she confessed, her voice breaking slightly. "Something I should have told you this morning but I didn't know how. I… I love you."

She searched his face for some sign of recognition but if he was aware of her presence he didn't let on, nor did he react to her words. "It took me a long time to realise it, but I know now that that's what this is. I love you," she repeated, finally allowing her tears to spill out into the world. She lifted his hand to her lips, pressing his palm to her damp cheek, hoping that he would somehow feel her touch through the layers of opiods and anaesthesia and know that she was there and that she did in fact love him, more than either of them had ever thought possible. "Please don't let that be for nothing. Please just live, for me."

* * *

><p><em>To clear up any confusion, the flashback in this chapter takes place after the now infamous fade to black.<em>

_Next chapter: Booth wakes up... (Did you really think I was going to kill him? ;))  
><em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks as always for your reviews. I'm glad people seem to like the direction this story is headed in. As you may have guessed from the teaser last chapter, I'm not going to dwell too much on Booth's time in the ICU because I feel like it would stall the rest of the plot I have in mind.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 3.<p>

The first thought Booth had on coming to was that he must be dead. Everything was bright and preternaturally quiet, just like he had always imagined it would be in the afterlife.

His chest burned as though someone had cracked his ribcage open and ripped out his heart; glancing down at it, he saw that the right side was covered with a thick patch of stark white gauze, and he wondered idly how he could still feel pain if he was in Heaven. If he was in Heaven at all.

The silence around him was broken only by the steady blip of machines and muted footsteps on the other side of the pale green curtain that separated him from whatever was outside. Scanning the room for something that would clue him in to what was happening, his eyes landed on the monitors set up beside him. That was when he realised that he wasn't dead. He was in a hospital.

Brennan was there, asleep at his bedside with her face pillowed on her arm on the edge of the mattress, the fingers of her left hand entwined with those of his right.

"Bones," he rasped in a voice that sounded too faint to be his own.

At the sound of her name, she lifted her head slowly, her tousled bangs falling into her eyes. "Booth, you're awake," she whispered on seeing that his eyes were open, her face lighting up with a combination of joy and relief.

"Throat… hurts," he told her, hoping that she would understand the question without him having to say anything else.

"Your right primary bronchus was damaged," she explained without missing a beat, smoothing her palm over his temple to soothe him in a gesture of tenderness that caught him by surprise. "The doctors had to intubate you during surgery to stabilise your breathing. Do you remember what happened?"

Booth's last clear memory was of his former comrade turned rival emerging from the cover of a shipping container with his rifle pointed directly at him. He heard the shot ring out, and the next thing knew, he was on his back on the ground. Everything was hazy after that, a flurry of movement accompanied by indistinct sounds and voices as the world around him faded to blackness. "Broadsky."

"Yes," Brennan told him softly. "He shot you."

"Where… Where is he now?" he managed to ask, his trachea aching with the effort of stringing together his first complete sentence since waking.

He knew he wasn't going to like the answer when her smile faded and she looked away. "I don't know," she admitted quietly. "The FBI has agents looking for him but so far no one has been able to find him."

Booth swallowed hard as anger exploded inside his chest. He wanted to hit something but he was too weak to move. This was the third time that he'd had the rogue sniper in his sights, only to let him slip through his fingers. How many more people had to die before he brought him to justice?

As though sensing his dark mood, Brennan changed the subject. "How do you feel?"

"Like I was shot," he deadpanned, pleased when she cocked her head to one side, fixing him with that slightly incredulous expression that meant that she was trying really hard not to smile.

He looked around again, trying to get his bearings. The blinds were drawn and there were no clocks in the room, making it impossible to tell if it was day or night. "What time is it?"

She checked her watch. "Seven forty seven a.m."

He studied her carefully, taking note, for the first time, of the grey circles rimming her eyes. She looked more careworn and exhausted than she had after Vincent died, when she crept into his room and collapsed into bed with him, if that were even possible. "You weren't here all night?"

She seemed surprised that he would even ask. "You've been in and out of consciousness for almost forty-eight hours, Booth. I wanted to be here when you woke up."

Forty-eight hours. That was two days. She had been sitting at his bedside, keeping vigil, for almost two days. That meant… "I'm really sorry we had to miss dinner, Bones," he told her seriously. "I was really looking forward to it." He was going to bring her flowers when he stopped by her apartment to pick her up for their almost-but-not-quite date. She would have complained, of course, but they both would have known that it was only to keep up the appearance of rationalism.

"I don't care about that, Booth," she insisted, her voice cracking dangerously as she confessed, "I'm just so glad you're okay. I thought I was going to lose you."

The moisture in her eyes made his stomach twist with guilt. He couldn't imagine what those two days must have been like for her. He didn't want to. He gripped her hand as tightly as he could in his depleted state. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

"No," she agreed, rewarding him with a tearful smile. "It appears that I'm stuck with you for the foreseeable future."

* * *

><p>By the end of the week, Booth had recovered enough that he felt comfortable allowing Rebecca to bring Parker by for a visit. He was out of the ICU by then, but his son still looked nervous as he took his first tentative steps into the room. "Dad?"<p>

Booth sat up a little straighter in bed to reassure him. "Hey, bub," he greeted him, leaning back into the pillows, forcing his grimace into a smile.

"Can I hug you?" Parker asked cautiously.

"Can you hug me? What kind of question is that?" Booth teased him, suppressing a groan when he did, a little too hard.

"Mom said you got shot," Parker said in what to Booth's guilty conscience sounded like an accusing tone, his eyes darting from his father to Brennan, working on her lap top in the corner, and back again.

"Yeah, but I'm fine now," Booth told him. "I'm just sitting here eating pudding and watching TV with Bones." He picked one of the little plastic cups up off his tray. "Here, you want some?"

This seemed to placate his son, who accepted the pudding, dropping into the chair beside him to eat.

Rebecca wasn't due to return for at least an hour so Booth flipped over to Cartoon Network, his son's favourite channel, where a rerun of _Justice League_ had just started.

"Does it hurt?" Parker asked during a commercial break, staring at Booth's bandage. "Where you got shot?"

It did, largely because Booth had scaled back his morphine intake in preparation for his son's visit, but he didn't want to worry him – or for that matter, Brennan, who still hadn't left his side in spite of his protests – any more than he already had. "Not now that you and Bones are here," he told him, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"Did you get him?"Parker asked towards the end of the episode, after the heroes had saved the day.

"Who?" Booth asked.

"The bad guy."

Booth glanced over at Brennan. She shook her head slightly as if to say 'I'm staying out of this'. "What do you think?" he asked his son to bide himself more time before answering.

"I think you kicked his ass!"

"What did your mom tell you about using that word?" Booth chastised his son absently, still unsure of the best way to respond.

"Kicked?" Parker repeated innocently.

"_Parker_."

"Sorry," his son said, looking cowed. "So did you?"

His expression was so eager that Booth couldn't bring himself to tell him the truth. His son knew more about the evils of the world than most children his age and yet he still believed that good always triumphed. The last thing he wanted to do was take that away from him. "Yeah," he agreed with a strained smile, careful to avoid Brennan's eyes. He knew how she felt about dishonesty, even where children were concerned. "I kicked his butt."

Parker's face split into a huge grin. "I knew it. You and Bones and the squints are just like the Justice League."

* * *

><p>"Why did you lie to Parker?" Brennan asked Booth over dinner that evening. They were both tired of eating hospital food, so at his pleading, she had smuggled in take out from the Chinese restaurant across the street.<p>

"You mean about being in pain?" Booth supplied, pretending not to understand the question. "That wasn't a lie, Bones. You're better than morphine."

"About Broadsky," she corrected him, ignoring his attempt to distract her with the infamous Booth charm.

Booth sighed. Clearly they were having this conversation whether he wanted to or not. He set the carton of Kung Pao chicken he had been eating from down on his tray. "What did you want me to tell him, Bones? That the guy who shot his dad is still out there? You heard him – he sees me as some kind of superhero. I guess I just didn't wanna disappoint him."

"You _are_ a hero, Booth," Brennan insisted. "Obviously you don't have any special powers, and while it is above average, your strength is still within the expected range for a man of your size, but even so, you risk your life every day to make the world a safer place for him to grow up in. You could never disappoint him."

More than anything, Booth wished that he could believe her, but he didn't feel like a hero. "Even if I never catch Broadsky?"

"Even if you never catch Broadsky," she agreed. "But you will, because when you're strong enough I'm going to help you. We all are."

Booth didn't think it would be possible to love her any more than he did at that moment. "What did I do to deserve a girlfriend like you?"

Confusion flickered across Brennan's face. "Girlfriend?"she repeated as though he had suddenly begun speaking a foreign language.

"Yeah," Booth agreed uncertainly, wondering if she thought he was being presumptuous by using that word. They still hadn't talked about what had happened between them that night or what it meant for their relationship. "We made love, Bones, and ever since then, things have been different. _We've_ been different. I just assumed… Was I wrong? Do you not want us to be together?"

She shook her head vehemently, struggling to find the right words to express whatever she was feeling.

"No, I wasn't wrong? Or no, you don't wanna be with me?"Booth probed. He was almost afraid to look at her. He couldn't handle another rejection from her; not now that he knew what it was like to spend the night with her in his arms.

"No, you weren't wrong," she assured him. "I do want to be with you, Booth. I still can't promise you thirty or forty or fifty years, but I would like us to try for a different outcome." She paused to give him time to digest this before asking, "What about you? Do you still want to be with me?"

He knew she must be thinking of what he had said to her in the bar, and again at his apartment, all those months ago. "Yeah," he agreed. He couldn't imagine ever _not_ wanting to be with her. As painful as it was at times, he had never stopped loving her, even while he was doing his best to convince both of them that he had moved on. "So how about it, Bones? Will you be my girlfriend?"

For once, she didn't seem to have an anthropological justification for his question or her answer to it. "Yes," she agreed, beaming at him. "Although I still prefer 'partner'."

A slow smile spread over his face on hearing her confirm that she was finally ready to give him what he had been praying for for seven long years. "Me too." He crooked his finger at her, beckoning her closer. "Come here."

"Why?"

"So I can kiss you without tearing my stitches."

She broke into a grin that matched the one he could feel adorning his own face his as she leant across the bed, her eyes falling closed in anticipation, and he did.

* * *

><p><em>Next chapter: Booth goes home to finish his recovery...<br>_


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks again to everyone for your comments. I know, it's been a while. RL excuses aside, this chapter took me a lot longer to write than I would have liked - to be honest, Bones fan fiction has been so dead lately that like a lot of authors I'm finding it hard to get inspired. The good news is that I forced myself to start the next chapter right away so it's almost done and will hopefully be up within a week or so.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 4.<p>

"I would like for you to come stay at my apartment," Brennan announced, collecting the Get Well cards that had accumulated on every flat surface around the room. The doctors were finally allowing Booth to go home, almost a week after he was transferred out of the intensive care unit.

"Not that I don't appreciate the offer, Bones, but I'm a big boy," Booth reminded her, wincing as he struggled to slide a pair of jeans on under his hospital gown. "I don't need my girlfriend to babysit me." Baby him, was more like it. She had been hovering over him ever since he woke up. He tried to lift the hem of the garment over his head but the movement pulled on the nearly six inch surgical wound that stretched from below his right nipple to the bottom of his ribcage, causing him to curse loudly and double over in pain.

Brennan was at his side in an instant. "Careful, Booth! You'll tear your stitches."

"I can do it myself, Bones," he complained when she took over undressing him, her lithe fingers unknotting the ties at the back. He hated being dependent on anyone, especially her. He was used to being the one taking care of her, not the other way around.

"I disagree or else you would be dressed already," she insisted, gently freeing his arms from the sleeve.

Booth snorted derisively. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Once the gown was off, Brennan helped him into a clean shirt from the duffel bag she had asked Angela to bring over for her rather than leave the hospital. "This is serious, Booth. You just had major surgery."

Booth slipped his hand inside the open lapel, probing the bandaged area gingerly with his fingers. "I'm aware of that." How was it possible that one tiny bullet could do so much damage?

"If you were, then you wouldn't be trying to push yourself," Brennan argued, wresting his hands away so that she could fasten the buttons for him. Under different circumstances, Booth would have found the simple action of her dressing him unbearably sexy, but here in the sterile confines of his hospital room it made him feel as though he were four years old again. "You want to stop Broadsky, don't you?"

"Do you even need to ask that?" he agreed. She knew that he had taken the news of Broadsky's escape hard; what she didn't know was that the thought of the rogue sniper out there somewhere, planning his next kill, kept him awake most nights. He had enough deaths on his conscience already.

"So then you're going to have to listen to the doctors and to take it easy for a while," she finished. "At least until you regain your strength." Now that Booth was fully clothed, she guided him down onto the side of the bed while she packed up the rest of his belongings.

"Bones—"

"_Booth_," she cut in in a voice that left no room for argument. "You can barely stand up straight, much less lift your arms. What are you going to do if you need to reach something on one of the top shelves? How do you expect to be able to go to down the Laundromat or cook dinner or even wash your hair? You need help." You need _me_, her defiant look seemed to add.

As loathe as Booth was to admit it, she was right. He couldn't do this without her. "This just isn't how I pictured it," he confessed, kneading his forehead with one hand. "You and me together, I mean. I always thought things would be a little more… equal." The last thing he wanted was to become another dead weight in her life, dragging her down when she had enough baggage to contend with already.

Brennan's resolute expression softened into a sympathetic smile. "It's only temporary, Booth," she said, folding his bathrobe and placing it inside his duffel. "Now that you and I are in a committed long-term monogamous relationship, it stands to reason that there will be times when you need me more than I need you, and vice versa. This is just one of those times."

"Long term, huh?" Booth repeated, perking up at her reminder that out of all the men he had watched try to pursue her over the years, _he_ was the one that she'd finally chosen to commit to. There was a time when he never would have believed that such a thing was possible; they were too different. Back then he was sure that someone as smart and beautiful as her was out of his league.

Her confidence seemed to waver as she glanced up at him again. "Isn't that what we agreed?"

He grinned to show her that he wasn't having second thoughts. "Well, yeah, but it's just nice to hear you say it."

She stopped what she was doing and moved over to where he was sitting, positioning herself between his legs, her hands resting lightly on his thighs, just below his hips. "I have to admit, I quite like the idea of being monogamous with you," she told him shyly.

"Really?" he asked, all traces of his sour mood forgotten.

"Yes," she agreed quietly without meeting his eyes, drawing lazy circles on the denim with her palms. "Even though I tried to be happy for you, it was… difficult… for me to watch you with Hannah. I had never experienced jealousy that acutely before."

Booth felt a pang of remorse on hearing Brennan's confession; while she had admitted to him that she believed she made a mistake in turning him down, it was the first time she had really acknowledged to him how painful it was for her to see him with someone else. "I'm sorry, Bones," he told her sincerely, "but y'know, we're here now, and I'm not gonna let anything – even Broadsky – come between us this time." He slid off the bed, holding his arms out to her, and she stepped into them, moulding herself to his uninjured side.

"If you won't move into my apartment, then I suppose I will just have to cohabitate with you for the duration of your recovery," she said after a few moments, her voice muffled slightly by his shirt.

"You know, you don't have to leave once I'm better," he told her. "You can stay at my place for as long as you like. Forever, if you want." Now that they were together, he couldn't wait to get started on building a life with her.

She lifted her head, shooting him a warning look.

"I know, I know," he agreed, "I promised we would take things slow. I just can't believe that after all these years you're finally mine." Time hadn't changed what he'd known since the beginning: she was The One and always would be. Even if she did drive him a little crazy sometimes.

Brennan frowned and Booth felt her body stiffen. "The word 'mine' suggests ownership. Just because you and I are a couple now doesn't mean I'm your property."

"This isn't some sexist caveman thing, Bones," he explained. "It works both ways. Being in an exclusive relationship means you belong to me, but I belong to you, too."

Slowly, her expression relaxed into a smile and she settled back into his embrace. "I suppose I can live with that," she agreed, tilting her face up so that he could kiss her.

* * *

><p>"Which one is Scarface?" Brennan asked, scooping a handful of popcorn out of the bowl. She offered it to Booth, who took some for himself before returning it to his lap.<p>

"Al Pacino," he explained without taking his attention off the screen.

After a brief detour to Brennan's apartment so that she could pack an overnight bag, they were settled on Booth's couch, watching one of his favourite movies, which he assured her was actually very famous despite the fact that she had never heard of it before.

She tried to remember if anyone had used that name in the movie. "Is he one of the gangsters?"

Booth finally tore his eyes from the TV, turning to gape at her, his jaw hanging open in exaggerated horror. "Don't tell me you don't know who Al Pacino is?"

"Is that a bad thing?" she asked. His tone made it sound as though this was on par with admitting that she didn't know who the president was.

"Yes, it's a bad thing!" he insisted in the same dramatic tone. "He's only one of the greatest actors of all time!"

"What criteria are you using to determine that?" she countered. "Greatness is impossible to quantify unless you're basing your assessment on something tangible like awards and even those can't be used as an accurate measure of talent because watching a performance is a subjective experience."

"I don't need criteria," he argued stubbornly. "It's just a fact, okay? He's right up there with Marlon Brando, Robert De Niro, Harrison Ford…" None of the names he listed meant anything to Brennan. She shook her head. "Come on, Bones, _The Godfather_? _Taxi Driver_? _Indiana Jones_?"

He imbued the last name with so much meaning that Brennan was almost ashamed to admit, "I don't know who that is." She went to the movie theatre even less frequently than she watched television, and on the rare occasions that she did she mostly saw documentaries unless she was accompanying Booth.

"We are seriously gonna have to do something about that, Bones," he told her, recovering from his shock. "Starting today, I'm giving you a crash course in twentieth century American cinema. Hand me a pen, would you?"

Brennan retrieved the pen and notepad from beside the phone, watching curiously as Booth started writing out what she could only assume was some kind of list. Whatever he was putting on it, he seemed very pleased with it, grinning to himself as he filled the page.

It was the most enthusiastic Brennan had seen him about anything since before the shooting so she decided to humour him even if sitting in front of the television for hours on end wasn't her favourite activity. There wasn't much else he could do in his current condition, so if educating her about popular culture kept him this happily occupied for however long it took him to recover, she was all for the idea.

* * *

><p>When Booth had finished making his list, Brennan took it to the video store where she gave it to the teenage clerk to decipher.<p>

A short time later, she returned to the apartment with the bag of DVDs, a carton of cookie dough ice cream and a pizza – half vegetarian, half pepperoni and sausage – balanced in one arm and a case of Booth's favourite soda in the other since he was still on prescription pain medication.

She wouldn't let Booth do anything to help so he waited impatiently on the couch while she gathered plates, napkins and cans of soda and carried everything into the living room, laying it all out on the coffee table in front of him.

"You are in for a treat, Bones," he told her, rubbing his hands together gleefully as she loaded the first disc into the DVD player.

Brennan wasn't sure what to expect so she just smiled indulgently, settling in beside him for what Booth insisted on calling their 'movie marathon', beginning with _Raiders of the Lost Ark_.

Aside from the_ Indiana Jones _movies, which she found intriguing from an archaeological and anthropological standpoint – in spite of their blatant historical inaccuracies – Brennan wasn't as enamoured with the films as Booth seemed to think she would be. What she enjoyed most was the excuse to revel in their new closeness by cuddling up with him beneath his blanket once the food had been cleared away, her head on his shoulder, his arm draped loosely around her waist. She had never been able to do that in any of her previous relationships without growing restless, preferring to limit physical contact solely to sexual activities, but as often happened with him, she found that whenever they were alone, she was content to just 'be'.

* * *

><p>If Booth had his way, they would have stayed up all night watching movies, but around midnight, Brennan switched off the television and announced that it was time for him to get some sleep.<p>

He complained that he'd slept enough while he was in hospital but he reluctantly allowed her to pull him up off the couch and lead him into the bedroom, where she sat him on the bed, removing his shirt and carefully changing the dressing on his wound.

When she was finished, she kissed him goodnight and got up.

"Where are you going?" he asked her, catching hold of both of her wrists to keep her from leaving.

"Just out to the living room. To make a bed up on the couch. I'll still be here if you need me."

"Why would you do that when there's a perfectly good one right here?" he asked playfully.

The last time she got into bed with him they wound up having sex. "The doctor said you're not supposed to do anything strenuous for at least a month," she reminded him. "That includes intercourse." As much as she wanted to try making love with him again, he needed to heal first.

"We don't have to have sex. We could just snuggle."

Brennan wasn't convinced that that idea was much better. "What if I roll over and hit you in the middle of the night?" she protested. "I could hurt you."

"You won't," he assured her. "Please, Bones? I sleep better when you're around." He fixed her with the eager little boy look that she had always found impossible to resist and she knew she had no choice but to agree.

"Fine, but only if you agree to stay on your side." Just to be safe, she gathered up the spare pillows and built a wall down the centre of the mattress. "This is for your own protection," she explained.

"Worried you won't be able to keep your hands to yourself?" he quipped as she helped him into bed.

"I'll have you know I have excellent impulse control," she assured him, pulling the covers up for him. She knew she was coddling him but she found it difficult to stop.

"That's not how I remember it," he teased her, raising his eyebrows suggestively. She blushed furiously at the implication of his words. "In fact, weren't _you_ the one who tried to get _me_ to have sex with you during our first case?"

"That was after you _fired_ me," she reminded him, "and you're forgetting that I was also the one who put a stop to it." She leant over, intending to plant a quick peck on his lips, but he refused to let go of her until he was ready, kissing her several more times before she managed to extricate herself from him. "Goodnight, Booth," she told him firmly as she pulled away.

She moved around to her own side and climbed in. Booth waited until she had switched off the bedside lamp, leaving them in darkness, before turning his head to look across at her. "Bones?"

"Yes?"

"I really am sorry, you know."

"What for?" she asked him.

"Getting shot, being so angry, that whole thing with Hannah…"

Brennan wasn't really sure why he thought he needed to be contrite when she was equally to blame for the state of their relationship. "You have nothing to apologise for, Booth," she assured him. "If anything, I'm the one who should be sorry because none of it would have happened if I hadn't pushed you away first. I never should have gone to the Maluku Islands." If she had stayed, then maybe it wouldn't have taken the death of a treasured colleague to convince them to move forward.

"I probably still would've gotten shot even if you hadn't," he offered.

She allowed herself a brief smile before her seriousness returned. "Just don't do it again, okay?" she told him softly. Twice was already two times too many.

"This is me we're talking about, Bones," he joked.

Despite her insistence that they each stay on their own sides, she found herself shifting closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "That's what worries me. The odds of you being killed while on duty…"

"It's not like we haven't beaten the odds before," he reminded her. Both of them should have died so many times now and yet here they were, together just like they'd always hoped.

"I know," she agreed. "I'm being overly emotional. I think I'm just tired." Between Vincent's death and Booth's shooting and all of the changes in their relationship, she hadn't been feeling like herself lately.

He combed his fingers idly through her hair. "Are you serious? After what I just put you through, you have every right to be."

"It's just that I_…" _ In spite of her conversation with Angela, she found herself hesitating again. It was one thing to say the words to him when he was unconscious and there was no danger of him responding, but quite another when he was awake to hear them. "I've never loved anyone the way I love you," she forced herself to finish, relieved when he didn't say anything, just smiled at her the way he did right before he was about to kiss her. "I know I'm probably not the first woman to say that to you…"

"But for you, it's the truth," he agreed seriously. "You realise what this means?" She shook her head slightly. "It may have taken me seven years, but I disproved your little hypothesis there, Miss 'Love is a chemical imbalance'. Which means…" He paused for dramatic effect, savouring the moment, "…I was finally right about something."

She could have tried to argue with him, but she was tired of denying what they both knew was true. She was happy to let him win this debate in exchange for a lifetime of moments like this one. "Just don't get cocky about it," she told him sleepily, closing her eyes, "or I may have to reconsider my position."


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited last chapter. If anyone is wondering, both the Scarface reference and the movie marathon were inspired by The Prince in the Plastic.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 5.<p>

Brennan walked back into the bedroom where Booth was waiting, pushing the end button on her cell. "Cam," was all she said by way of explanation, depositing the phone on top of the dresser.

It was barely six a.m.; too early for a social call. "Let me guess, you have a body?" Booth supplied.

"She has a body," Brennan corrected him, lifting the covers and crawling back into bed beside him. "We have a doctor's appointment." In the place of his incision, Booth now had an angry pink scar, which meant that if everything went according to plan, today was the day that he would finally be getting his stitches removed.

"Don't they need you to do your thing?" Booth asked, taken aback by his partner's apparent lack of curiosity about what could be a new case.

She scooted closer to him, wrapping her arm around his waist and tucking her head into the space beneath his chin. "They've managed without me before."

"Only because you were out of the country," he pointed out. It wasn't like Brennan to pass up an opportunity to examine a new set of remains, especially during a murder investigation. More importantly, it wasn't like her to turn her back on their friends. "You've already taken three weeks off to be with me, Bones. Don't you think it's time you went back to work?" Cam would hold her job for her, of course, so that wasn't an issue, but he didn't want her to keep sacrificing that part of her life just to take care of him.

"I made a commitment, Booth," she argued stubbornly. "I intend to honour that. In sickness and in health – isn't that what you're supposed to promise?"

"Except that _we_ are not married and _you_ are not actually my nurse," he reminded her gently, nuzzling her hair. "Look, my appointment isn't until four. You'll be back in plenty of time to drive me to the hospital. I can entertain myself until then."

She lifted her head, staring at him for a long moment. "If I go, will you promise to rest? I don't want to come home and find that you've injured—"

Booth smiled and cupped her jaw in his palm, silencing her with a soft kiss. "I promise I will not leave the couch," he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Brennan's expression was dubious. "For several hours? What if you get hungry or need to urinate?"

"Okay, _then_ I will leave the couch," he agreed, biting back a smirk at what he had come to recognise as a typical Bones response, "but then and only then. You have my word." He kissed her again.

"You really don't mind?" she asked uncertainly.

"Of course not, Bones," he assured her. "I know how important your career is to you."

This seemed to relax her. "Okay," she said, nodding resolutely. "I'll go in after breakfast."

* * *

><p>Once she had stored her belongings in her office, Brennan grabbed her lab coat and headed out to the platform to see what she could extrapolate from the victim. She wanted to get back to Booth as soon as possible, before he tried to prove that he could still take care of himself by performing some task he wasn't physically capable of.<p>

Something was wrong, Brennan thought as she paused to swipe her ID. The stink emanating from the corpse was overpowering. "What is that smell?" she asked, trying to breathe through her mouth, resisting the urge to cover her face as she snapped on a fresh pair of gloves and cautiously approached the gurney where Cam and Angela were standing.

"That would be the heart-warming aroma of decomposing flesh," Angela deadpanned. She screwed her face up into a disgusted expression, resting her hand protectively on her rounded abdomen. "When did the smell of rotting corpses become normal for me?"

"I ask myself the same question every day," Cam quipped back.

"I've been a forensic anthropologist for almost ten years," Brennan reminded them curtly. "I know what human remains are supposed to smell like." She braced both hands on the edge of the gurney while she waited for her stomach to settle. Something about this particular body wasn't right. Why hadn't anyone else noticed that?

"Is everything okay, Dr. Brennan?" Cam asked her, touching Brennan's elbow gently as if she thought she might need to catch her if she passed out suddenly. "You look a little pale."

"Fine," Brennan agreed, forcing herself to stand up straight. She refused to vomit in front of Cam, no matter how unwell she felt. "Can we just do the exam? I really need to get home."

"You realise Booth is an adult?" Angela teased her. "He can survive a couple of hours without you."

Was she really that smothering? "I know that, I just…"

"You're worried about him," her best friend finished gently.

Brennan nodded. "He keeps saying he's fine, but I can see that he's not. He blames himself for what happened. I think he believes it's his fault that Broadsky got away."

"That's Booth for you," Cam agreed. "Always taking the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's been that way for as long as I've known him. Why else would he keep bailing Jared out of trouble?"

"Do you think I should call Sweets?" Brennan asked them. "He's better at this than I am." She wondered briefly if she there was any chance that she could convince Dr. Wyatt to come out of retirement to help Booth.

"That's probably not the best idea, sweetie," Angela told her. "You know how much Booth hates having his head shrinked."

"Booth's head is the same…" Brennan began, trailing off when she noticed the mildly incredulous looks Cam and Angela were exchanging. "I'm being too literal again, aren't I?" she asked sheepishly. Both women nodded in agreement. "So if he won't talk to someone about it, what do I do?"

"Exactly what you've been doing," Cam assured her kindly. "Just be there for him. Give him the time he needs to work through this. He'll be okay. He's Booth."

* * *

><p>"Booth?" Brennan called, closing the front door behind her.<p>

She followed his answering shout down the hall, relieved to find him in the living room, watching ESPN just like he was when she left him that morning.

"See, what did I tell you?" he teased her, easing himself up into a seated position.

She perched on the edge of the couch beside him, leaning over to greet him with a kiss. "How are you?"

"Exactly the same as I was when you asked me this morning," he assured her with a slight roll of his eyes. "So, tell me, who was the victim?"

"The victim was a forty to fifty year old male," she explained, not sure she was doing him any favours by supplying him with this information when the case would likely be solved by the time he was declared fit for duty. She decided not cause him unnecessary concern by mentioning her bizarre reaction to the smell of the body. "Angela is still working on determining his identity."

"But you have reason to think he was murdered?"

"Cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the base of the skull," she agreed. There was no way he could have inflicted an injury like that on himself.

"Someone shot him?" Booth repeated, his expression hardening into the same troubled look he got whenever the subject of Broadsky came up. "You don't think…?"

Brennan couldn't deny that there was an obvious connection, but she had dismissed it as too superficial, at least until they figured out who the victim was and what motive Broadsky might have for killing him. "I think it's too early to jump to conclusions when we don't have all of the evidence yet," she insisted, getting up. "Now if you're ready, we should go or else we're going to get stuck in traffic."

* * *

><p>"Why does it hurt more to get stitches <em>out<em> than it does to have them put in?" Booth complained as he let them back into the apartment hours later.

Despite Brennan's reservations, he had managed to coax her into taking him to the diner for dinner by promising that he would rest without protest for the remainder of the evening.

"You didn't feel anything when they sutured your chest because you were under the influence of general anaesthetic," Brennan reminded him, helping him peel off his jacket.

"That was a rhetorical question, Bones," he said, hanging it up on the hook while she shed hers. "But you know, at least I can take a real shower now." He turned to her with a playful grin. "Care to join me?"

"I thought you said you didn't require assistance?" she teased him.

"I could do with a little help washing my hair," he told her innocently.

Brennan fixed him with a sceptical look. "Do you really need help or is this just an excuse to get me naked?" she asked.

"Can it be both?"

Brennan tried to look disapproving but she couldn't hide her smile as she allowed Booth to take her hand and lead her into the bathroom.

She helped him with his clothes first, leaving him to take off his boxers while she undid her blouse. Next she discarded her jeans, adding them to the growing pile on the floor.

The only other time she had undressed in front of him they were shrouded in darkness. "You are so beautiful," he breathed, watching her rid herself of the last vestiges of clothing, his eyes roving appreciatively over her bare form.

She found herself blushing slightly under the intensity of his gaze. "You're not so bad yourself."

Once they were both inside the shower, he pulled the curtain around them and backed her against the wall, kissing her softly.

It took her several moments to remember the real reason they were there, and when she finally did, she broke the kiss, pushing him away gently. "Turn around," she instructed. She squeezed a generous amount of shampoo into her palm and gently soaped his hair for him. "Okay, now you can rinse," she told him, stepping back to give him room.

"Thanks, Bones," he said, ducking back under the spray.

When Booth was finished washing the shampoo out of his hair, his hands found the slick skin of Brennan's lower back, pulling her into him so that he could resume kissing her.

"I've never done this before," she confessed when he moved his attention away from her lips, dropping tiny kisses along her jaw line.

Booth paused in his efforts. "Taken a shower?"he teased.

"Taken a shower with someone else," she explained. She wrapped her arms tighter around him, closing her eyes and resting her cheek against his. "It's nice." She had expected it to be awkward, but like so many other firsts with him, it wasn't.

"You've never showered with anyone? Not even after…?"

"Intercourse? That would have hindered the overall objective."

"Which is...?"

"To get clean."

He pulled back in surprise. "You're telling me you've never done it in the shower?"

"If by 'it' you mean 'sex', then no," she agreed. She liked having that time alone to relax and recharge after spending the night with someone.

Brennan wasn't sure why, but this seemed to please Booth. "That makes you a shower virgin."

"I'm not a virgin inside or outside of the shower," she insisted. "You know that."

"It's a figure of speech, Bones," he explained. "It means you haven't had a particular experience." His smile grew wider. "Yet."

"I see," she said slowly as comprehension dawned on her, shifting her arms to around his neck. "So what do you intend to do about that?"

"Right now, nothing," he admitted, "but one of these days I am gonna show you just how much of a hindrance I can be."

* * *

><p><em>Even though I have the arc for this story planned, I'm having trouble finding the motivation to write it due to the never-ending hiatus and the Bones fan fiction drought so any reviews telling me that people are still reading are greatly appreciated. :)<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_Wow! I was blown away by the reponse to my note at the end of last chapter. Thank you all so much! I was so happy to hear that there are still so many people who are as passionate about this story as I am. :)  
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* * *

><p>Chapter 6.<p>

"Feeling any better today, sweetie?" Angela asked Brennan the next morning. They were standing in front of the 'Angelatron', preparing to go over the artist's findings.

"I'm not ill," Brennan assured her, forcing her expression to remain neutral. She felt fine earlier when she went up to the platform to check on the remains, although this could have been due to the fact that she had cleaned the flesh from the bones.

"Then what was that all about yesterday?"

"What was what all about?" Brennan repeated innocently, refusing to acknowledge that anything out of the ordinary had happened.

"You, looking like you were gonna puke all over our victim," Angela told her. "You don't usually have that reaction to dead bodies and this wasn't even a particularly gross one."

Granted it was strange, but so were a lot of the situations Brennan had found herself in of late. "Perhaps this business with Broadsky has made me more sensitive to the victims," she suggested. After all he had murdered Vincent and almost killed Booth.

"You hate psychology," Angela reminded her, clearly unconvinced. She put her hands on her hips, scrutinising Brennan carefully."What is really going on with you?"

Ever since the incident on the platform, Brennan had been trying very hard not to think about it and what it could mean. She wasn't ready to face that possibility yet. "What did you want to show me?" she asked, steering the conversation back to the task at hand. "Did you identify the victim?"

Angela waited for Brennan to explain away her behaviour, but when she didn't, she turned to the screen with sigh. "Jeffrey Coleman," she told her, pulling up an image of a partially bald middle aged man Brennan had never seen before. "Forty nine years old. He's a Catholic priest."

Brennan's eyes were drawn to the bottom of the picture, where the familiar black and white collar was just visible. Why hadn't she noticed it when she was examining the remains? What other vital evidence had she overlooked in her haste to get back to Booth?

"Judging by the nature and location of the wound, this man wasn't just murdered – he was assassinated," she said. "Why would someone want to assassinate a priest?"

Angela shook her head sadly. "I don't know, sweetie. You don't think it has something to do with…?" She trailed off, unwilling or unable to say the sniper's name out loud.

All of the evidence seemed to fit except the identity of the victim which was a far cry from Broadsky's usual MO. "Booth asked the same thing," Brennan admitted.

Angela tensed slightly. "What did you tell him?" she asked, looking concerned.

"I told him we shouldn't jump to conclusions until we know more."

"I'll see what else I can dig up," Angela promised. She hit a button on the controller and the image disappeared from the screen, replaced by the Jeffersonian logo. "So how are things between you and Booth anyway?" she asked, a teasing note creeping into her tone. "Have you guys done the deed again?"

Brennan shook her head. "Booth has expressed a desire to resume sexual activity with me as soon as possible, however I would like to wait until his doctor gives his approval."

"But other than that?"

Remembering their encounter in the shower the night before, Brennan smiled. There was a part of her that was still amazed that she was actually doing this with him. She kept waiting for it to fall apart but three weeks in they were both happier than they had ever been.

"That well, huh?" Angela said, grinning back.

* * *

><p>"So you never did answer my question," Angela reminded Brennan at lunch. "What happened yesterday?"<p>

Brennan opened her mouth, but Angela cut her off before she could speak. "Don't you dare say 'nothing'," she warned her, levelling Brennan with a stern glare.

It was uncanny how well her best friend knew her. Brennan closed her mouth again while she reconsidered her reply. "I experienced some mild nausea in response to the smell of the body but I'm fine now," she said finally.

"Just the body?" Angela repeated, still looking dubious.

Brennan stared down at her salad, probing it with her fork."A few nights ago I had a similar reaction while cooking dinner for Booth," she admitted. She hadn't given it much thought at the time, choosing to ignore it until now.

"Let me guess – it was the smell of raw meat?"

Brennan looked up at her best friend in surprise. "How did you know?"

"For the first three months of my pregnancy—"

"Unlike you, I'm not pregnant," Brennan interrupted her before she could finish the thought. "I'm a vegetarian." It had been almost five years since she gave up eating meat; it was only natural that she would find the smell difficult to tolerate.

"Are you sure that's all it is?" Angela pressed. "When was the last time you got your period?"

It couldn't have been more than a three or four weeks ago; in fact now that Brennan thought about it, she was probably due to receive it again any day. She reached for her date book, opening it on the current page. She was aware of Angela watching her silently as she turned back a few pages, to a date underlined in red pen.

That couldn't be right, she thought with a frown, flipping back a dozen or so more, to the last date she had circled. That was almost five weeks ago. Surely it hadn't been that long?

"So you _are_ late," Angela pointed out.

All of a sudden, Brennan felt sick to her stomach again, only this time it had nothing to do with her sense of smell. "That doesn't prove anything," she insisted, her voice taking on a sharp edge. "There could be any number of probable causes, including stress. Weight loss, change of routine, perhaps I miscalculated—"

"Honey, how careful were you and Booth when you slept together?" Angela asked gently. "Because you know, even if you used a condom—"

"We didn't," Brennan confessed quietly. The thought hadn't occurred to her until much later and by then she had no choice but to push it out of her mind.

For a moment, Angela was speechless. "Let me get this straight – you and Booth had unprotected sex and now you're late and you're not even the tiniest bit concerned that you might be pregnant?" she asked incredulously.

"It was only one time." Brennan cringed at how naïve she knew she must sound. Unplanned pregnancies were something that only happened to teenagers and poorly educated women who didn't know any better. At least that was what she had always believed. An intelligent, well-educated professional woman like herself should have more sense than to put herself in that situation.

"I'm pretty sure I don't need to tell you of all people that one time is all it takes."

Brennan mentally tried to calculate the odds of conceiving a child during a single sexual encounter. What were the chances that her body would betray her the one time she allowed emotion to cloud her normally impeccable judgement? If her symptoms were to be believed, the likelihood was much higher than she ever would have anticipated.

She slumped forward onto her elbows, dropping her face into her hands. "How could I be so stupid, Ange?" She allowed her mind to travel back to that night, wondering if this was somehow what she had intended when she crawled into Booth's bed; if she had not only accepted the risk but embraced it so that even if he _had_ died, she would still have this small part of him. It wouldn't be the first time she had tried to use his child as a substitute for having him in her life.

She looked up when she felt Angela's hand on her shoulder. "Maybe you're right – maybe you're not pregnant," her best friend tried to reassure her. "I mean, it could go either way, right? But I think you should probably take a test to make sure."

* * *

><p>Booth was in the living room when Brennan got home.<p>

"Hey, Bones. How was your day?" he asked her, glancing up from the baseball game he was watching as she entered the room.

"Fine," she assured him, doing her best to sound normal. After a lengthy debate with herself, she had resolved not to share her suspicions with him unless of course they proved to be correct. If she was pregnant then she would have to find a way to tell him but for now she was determined to keep that information to herself. "How was yours?"

He groaned, letting his head fall against the back of the couch. "Do you even need to ask? I'd much rather hear about what's happening in the lab. Did Angela ID the victim yet?"

She decided that just like with her possible pregnancy, it was better not to mention anything until she knew what they were dealing with. "No," she lied, uncertain how he would react to the news that their latest victim was a priest.

She could see that he was disappointed. "Don't worry, Bones," he said, pulling her down to sit beside him. "You'll get this guy eventually."

"I know," she agreed, forcing a smile. She allowed him to kiss her briefly before extricating herself from him. "I'm going to take a bath before I start dinner, okay?"

If he noticed anything abnormal about her behaviour he didn't let on. "Okay," he said, releasing her hand. "I'll be here."

Brennan got up and went into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. She turned on the taps, perching on the edge of the tub as she waited for it to fill, but instead of undressing, she took a paper bag stamped with the name of a pharmacy out of her purse.

Her hands were shaking as she pulled out the box containing two home pregnancy tests; she had to read through the instructions several times before she felt calm enough to follow them.

When she was done, she placed it next to the sink and returned to her seat on the bathtub to wait out the requisite three minutes.

There was a time not long ago when she'd wanted this, she reminded herself, letting her hand drift to her abdomen as she allowed herself to consider the possibility that a new life might have taken root there. She had buried those feelings out of respect for Booth's after he made it clear that he wasn't comfortable with the plan, but she wasn't sure that longing ever really left her. Perhaps he would tell her it was fate; that this child – their child – was always meant to be.

You're overreacting, she admonished herself, feeling foolish for entertaining such a fanciful idea. A slight delay in your menstrual cycle does not mean that you're pregnant.

Even if Booth did have exceptional sperm, at thirty-five years old, she was past prime childbearing age, making an accidental pregnancy seem highly improbable. Most likely the test would be negative and they would have narrowly escaped the life-altering consequences of their carelessness. It was better that way.

She glanced at her watch. Time to find out.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she walked back over to the counter and picked up the plastic stick to check the result.

Inside the display window was a little blue plus sign.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks again for all of your encouraging reviews. I would have had this up sooner but I was stuck on a particular plot point: I had planned to include Michael's birth here since it coincided with Brennan discovering her own pregnancy on the show, but after realising that it was slowing down the story I decided to push it back to a later chapter. I'm also working on another AU fic that will put a slightly different spin on the aftermath of the season 7 finale than what we will probably see on the show.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 7.<p>

Pregnant, Brennan thought, locking eyes with her equally astonished reflection. She was pregnant. With Booth's child.

Tearing her gaze away from the mirror, she inched up her shirt, probing the flat skin of her abdomen wondrously with her fingers. Her, a mother. To a baby. _Her_ baby. It was easily the single most amazing and terrifying thing that had ever happened to her.

She returned the plastic stick to its box and rolled it up inside the empty pharmacy bag, stuffing it into the bottom of the trash where she hoped Booth wouldn't see it before she had a chance to tell him herself.

He acknowledged her with a smile when she came back into the living room, perching tentatively on the couch cushion beside him. "Feeling more relaxed?"

Brennan stared at him blankly, her mind still on the results of the test. For once, she didn't know if she had passed or failed. While her stance on having children had changed dramatically since meeting her partner, now wasn't the right time, for either of them. "What?"

"Your bath."

"Oh." Brennan glanced down at herself. She was wearing the same clothes she had entered the bathroom in. "Yes."

Booth's brow creased with concern. "Is everything okay with you, Bones? You seem a little, I don't know, distracted."

I should tell him, she thought, but she couldn't make herself utter those two life-changing words.

Instead, she chose what she believed would be the safer option. "I was just thinking about the case."

As she had come to expect, his wary expression became troubled. "You think it's Broadsky."

"You know I'm not comfortable making assumptions without all the evidence," she complained, reluctant to lie to him outright. All of these secrets were beginning to wear on her conscience.

"But you think it's possible?" he insisted. Brennan fixed him with her best disapproving look. "Okay, but I just want you to know that if it is, you can tell me." He picked the remote up off the arm of the couch and muted the television. "You can tell me anything," he added pointedly.

"I know," she agreed, trying not to look as guilty as she felt. And normally, she would, but nothing about this situation was normal. Life would never be normal again. Not after today.

"So, is there anything you wanna tell me?" he prompted, eying her with an expectant expression.

I'm pregnant, she thought with a tiny thrill of excitement. You're the father. However I'm fairly certain Broadsky _is_ killing again, she continued, sobering, so perhaps neither of us will live long enough for it to become an issue.

On an ordinary day, just one of these facts would be enough to send him into a tailspin. He had come so far in the weeks since his shooting, physically and emotionally. What if the news of her pregnancy combined with Broadsky's return overturned all the progress he had made?

She shook her head decisively. "No." He needed more time to process the events of the past few weeks and so did she.

From his disappointed look, she could tell that he didn't really believe her, but he seemed to know better than to press the issue, turning the television back up to its original volume.

Relieved that he wasn't going to try to force the truth out of her before either of them was ready, she got up and headed for the kitchen. But instead, of entering, she found herself hesitating there in the doorway, wondering if she was making the right decision in choosing to keep something so important from him. Two somethings, in fact. "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?" he prompted her, glancing up at her.

She almost blurted them both out right then but at the last moment she thought better of it. She would still be pregnant tomorrow, and if she wasn't, well then none of it would matter. "What do you want for dinner?"

* * *

><p>The next morning Brennan was back in Angela's office, staring at a projection of Father Coleman with her best friend. "Did you learn any more about the victim?" Brennan asked her.<p>

"Unfortunately, yes," Angela agreed. "In 2010, Coleman left the church in Boston where he'd been leading the congregation for over twenty years suddenly to come here."

"And you think that has something to do with why he was murdered?" Brennan guessed, uneasiness settling into the pit of her stomach.

"At the time, he was being investigated for sexual abuse," Angela told her, handing her a file. "Fifteen girls ranging in age from eight to twenty eight came forward with allegations against him but no charges were ever filed." She was quiet for a moment before she admitted, almost apologetically, "I'm starting to think this could be another one of Broadsky's. I mean isn't that his MO?"

"Wouldn't it be more logical to assume that Father Coleman was killed by the parents of one of his victims?" Brennan argued, trying to think like Booth. He would say retribution was the most likely motive for murder after greed and jealousy.

"It's possible," Angela agreed, "but how many suburban dads and PTA moms have access to sniper rifles?"

"Booth is a father and he owns a high powered rifle," Brennan reminded her stubbornly. "Perhaps the killer is ex-military as well." She knew that it was improbable, but she wasn't ready to face the alternative.

One look at her seemed to tell Angela that now was a good time to change the subject. "Speaking of Booth and fatherhood, did you take my advice and go to the drugstore?" she asked, switching the image back to the Jeffersonian screensaver.

"Yes," Brennan agreed.

"And?" her friend prompted impatiently.

"You were right."

Angela's mouth fell open the same way it had when Brennan had informed her of the encounter that had resulted in the conception of the child she was now carrying. "You're pregnant?" she checked. Brennan nodded. "Oh my God, sweetie. How do you feel?"

"I haven't experienced any more symptoms if that's what you're asking," Brennan told her, pretending not to understand the question.

"I wasn't talking about your symptoms, honey, I was talking about _you_," her friend insisted. "Is this a good thing or a bad thing?"

"It was… unexpected," Brennan admitted. "I'm still adjusting."

"Well what did Booth say when you told him?" Angela continued. "Was he happy? I bet he was happy."

Brennan opened the file on Jeffrey Coleman, feigning absorption in the contents so that she wouldn't have to meet her friend's eyes.

"Brennan," Angela admonished her when, after a few moments, she still hadn't answered. "This isn't the kind of thing you can just deal with on your own. You're having a _baby_. _Booth's_ baby. This is going to affect him too, you know."

"That's why I didn't tell him," Brennan explained, aware of how lame this excuse sounded. "He's already under a tremendous amount of pressure personally and professionally. He has enough to contend with without the added stress of another unplanned pregnancy."

For the first time since the conversation began, Angela actually looked angry with her. "Please tell me you're not thinking of having an abortion," she said, a sharp edge in her voice, laying a protective hand over her own baby.

Brennan had always considered termination to be the logical solution when faced with a predicament like the one she currently found herself in, but for reasons she couldn't begin to explain to herself, much less anyone else, hearing the word applied to the embryo in her womb made her feel almost as ill as the smell of decaying flesh.

"I never said that," she insisted. After lying awake beside Booth for most of the night she wasn't any closer to figuring out how best to handle the situation.

Angela relaxed on hearing that she wasn't about to do anything that she might later regret. "Good, because it would kill Booth if he ever found out. So then what?" she pressed. "You're just going to try to hide the fact that you're pregnant from him until someone catches Broadsky? You know as well as I do that that could take months. You don't think he's going to notice by then? Especially if you two plan on getting naked together again any time in the near future."

In spite of Brennan's best efforts to remain objective, she couldn't prevent the tears from welling up in her eyes. "I know I have to tell him," she agreed, "and I want to, I'm just… scared. I'm really scared, Ange. I never thought this would to happen to me." Until that one emotionally fuelled night with Booth, she had always been meticulous about contraception, insisting that her sexual partners wore condoms even if she was on the pill. If she ever did have a child, she was determined that it would be through careful planning on her part.

"I know, sweetie, but it's going to be okay," Angela assured her, giving her a quick hug. "Remember how scared I was about telling Jack that I was pregnant?"

"Your situation bears little similarity to mine," Brennan felt the need to point out. "For one thing, you and Hodgins were married when he impregnated you. And he wasn't recovering from life-threatening injury."

"Sweetie, Booth loves you," Angela reminded her. "He'll do the right thing."

"You mean he'll propose," Brennan corrected her. "That's what he did when he found out Rebecca was pregnant." What if she didn't want him to do the 'right thing'? "I'm not going to marry him because he feels some archaic sense of duty towards me simply because I'm carrying his offspring." Assuming he even asked her after he had already been rejected twice, by two seperate women. Even though she didn't really want him to, the idea that he might not bothered her more than she cared to admit.

She knew she wasn't making any sense. "What is it that you're really afraid of, sweetie?" Angela asked her gently, almost as if she were capable of reading Brennan's thoughts. "That he won't want the baby or that he will?"

* * *

><p>The TV was off and the couch was empty when Brennan trudged down the hall into Booth's living room.<p>

"Booth?" she called, confused by his sudden disappearance. "Where are you?"

"In here," she heard him call back.

She followed his voice into the kitchen, where she found him standing at the island, chopping an onion, a dishcloth hanging over one shoulder. "What are you doing up?" she asked him.

He stopped what he was doing long enough to press a kiss to her cheek. "I am making dinner for my girlfriend," he told her, flashing her one of his infamous 'Boothy' grins.

A brief smile crossed her own features, but she tamped it down into a frown. "You're supposed to be resting," she reminded him.

"I've been resting all day," he assured her, drying his hands on the towel. He took her by the shoulders and steered her gently over to the table. "You've been taking care of me for weeks. It's your turn to relax and let me take care of you."

She was too tired and hungry to argue so she sat on the stool where he directed.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked her, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of wine.

"Water is fine," she told him quickly. If he wanted to know why she wasn't drinking, she figured she could always say it was out of solidarity for him.

He put the bottle back and took out a water pitcher instead.

"How was work?" he asked, filling a glass and handing it to her. "Any breaks in the case?"

"The victim's name is Jeffrey," she told him, deciding that this detail was safe. He couldn't run a background check without a surname. "He relocated here from Boston about eighteen months ago. Agent Shaw is putting together a list of suspects." She watched him scrape the onion into a pan on the stove. "What are you making?"

"Stir fry." Brennan's stomach lurched as the smell of oil and fried onions filled the kitchen. She tried to hold off her nausea by taking a small sip of her water. "Don't worry, I won't put beef in yours," Booth teased her, noting her disgusted expression.

The word alone was enough to make Brennan retch. Setting the glass back on the table, she jumped off her stool and raced to the bathroom, reaching the toilet in time to be sick.

She lifted her head at the sound of a soft tap at the door. "Bones?"

"Just a minute," she called, fumbling for the flush button and pulling herself shakily to her feet. Angela was right; the term 'morning sickness' _was_ a misnomer.

Once she felt steady enough to move, she walked over to the sink, wiping her mouth and splashing cold water on her face, but as she drying herself off, her cell phone began to ring.

Perfect, she thought.

She fished it out of the pocket of her dress pants and hit the 'Answer' button without checking the caller ID. "Brennan," she croaked, assuming it was her best friend checking up on her.

"Still not feeling well, Dr. Brennan?" Cam's voice asked.

Brennan brushed off her question. "Did you uncover some new evidence?" she countered, forcing herself to sound as normal as possible. She would have to notify Cam of her pregnancy eventually, but not until she had discussed it with Booth.

"Ok-ay," Cam said, sounding slightly taken aback. "Moving on. The reason I'm calling is that Agent Shaw sent over the ballistics report on the bullet that killed Jeffrey Coleman." Brennan felt herself tense at the gravity in the medical examiner's tone. Cam knew that she had gone home for the night; there was only one reason she couldn't wait until morning to share the results. "It's a match for the weapon Broadsky used to kill his other victims," she finished.

This couldn't be happening. Not now. Brennan let out a long breath. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive," Cam agreed. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan. I didn't want it to be him either."

"Thank you for informing me," Brennan told her stiffly, ending the call.

Booth was hovering outside in the hall when she left the bathroom, clearly waiting for her. "Is everything all right, Bones?" he asked her, the furrow in his brow deepening when he saw her troubled expression.

She shook her head slowly, still dazed by Cam's announcement. "There's something I have to tell you."


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks, as always, to my dedicated reviewers. You guys are the reason I keep writing. :)  
><em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 8.<p>

"Broadsky did this?" Booth asked, looking through the pile of crime scene photos spread out on the coffee table in front of him.

"Yes," Brennan agreed solemnly.

They were in his living room, him on the couch while she sat in the adjacent armchair where she could see his face.

"When?"

"One, maybe two weeks ago."

"But not three?" he said, more of a statement than an actual question.

"No. Not three," she agreed. She couldn't lie about evidence, even if it would make him feel better.

He nodded his understanding, his attention returning to the picture.

She wished she knew what he was thinking. "Are you okay?" she asked when he didn't say anything else. She reached for his hand but he jerked it away, standing up suddenly.

"No, Bones, I'm not okay." He waved the picture for emphasis. "This man is dead because of me."

"Jeffrey Coleman was a child molester, Booth," she pointed out. Surely as a father, he must feel that the world would be better off without him?

Booth looked stunned. "You're saying you agree with this?" he asked her.

"I'm saying he was a bad man." Why should he let the death of someone who had abused the trust of more than a dozen children affect him like this?

"You of all people should know that nothing is that black and white," he insisted, thinking, she could only assume, of her parents. "Whatever he did in the past, it doesn't give us the right to play judge, jury and executioner. It's not up to us to decide who gets to live and who dies." He paced the length of the room, stopping when he reached the door to the bedroom, his back to her, effectively shutting her out of whatever was going on inside his head.

"Of course not," she agreed. She got up and walked over to him. "But you can't blame yourself, Booth," she told him, sliding her arms around him from behind, resting her chin in the groove of his shoulder. "You're no more responsible for that man's death than I was for Vincent's. You didn't pull that trigger. Broadsky did. That's what you told me, remember?"

Her words seemed to have the desired effect, causing him to break into a slow smile. "I remember." He kissed her softly. "So this is why you've been acting so weird lately, huh?" he asked, turning back around to face her.

She knew she should correct him, but he had suffered enough emotional upheaval for one night. She had an appointment with her gynecologist the next morning; it couldn't hurt to wait one day to make sure both she and their child were healthy before she burdened him with the news.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," she agreed. "I needed to be certain."

He nodded and kissed her again before releasing her. "Come on, let's go finish dinner."

* * *

><p>"Temperance Brennan," her gynecologist greeted her with a friendly smile when she walked in to find Brennan lying on the exam bed. "I was beginning to think you'd switched doctors. What can I do for you today?"<p>

It had been a while; her lack of sexual activity in recent times meant that she had no reason to make regular visits. "I need you to confirm the results of a home pregnancy test," Brennan told her.

"So you decided to go through with the insemination after all?" the doctor asked her, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. "Good for you."

"Not exactly," Brennan admitted sheepishly as the doctor began her examination. "I was inseminated, but not artificially."

"I take it you weren't trying to conceive?" the doctor asked her.

Brennan shook her head, feeling stupid all over again, then realising that the doctor couldn't see her: "Not currently."

"Birth control isn't always effective," the doctor reminded her. She peeled off her gloves and dropped them into a nearby trashcan. "Have you decided whether or not termination is an option for you?"

"It's not," Brennan assured her quickly. Not long ago, she might have considered it, but not now, with this child. She was old enough and financially secure enough to give it the life that it deserved. At the very least, she knew she could count on Booth to support her in that.

"I'm glad to hear that. Is there anyone you would like us to call in from the waiting room?" the doctor asked kindly as the ultrasound technician went about readying the equipment.

Brennan shook her head. "I haven't told Booth yet."

"Booth?" her doctor repeated, surprised. "As in the man who donated his sperm for you?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Brennan's lips. "Yes. He and I are together now." That – the fact that it had happened with him – was the one part of all of this she could never regret.

The doctor smiled. "Congratulations. Now let's take a look, shall we?"

Without meaning to, Brennan found herself holding her breath as she waited for the doctor's pronouncement. She hadn't realised how badly she wanted to be having this child until now, even if it wasn't something they had planned.

"You are definitely pregnant," the doctor told her after a few moments. "My guess is about five weeks, give or take a few days." She circled a grey area with her index finger. "That's the gestational sac. No sign the embryo yet but that's perfectly normal at this stage."

"Then how can you be sure the pregnancy is viable?" Brennan asked anxiously, concerned that the inside of her uterus was too quiet and still for anything to be living there.

"It's rare to see much this early," the doctor assured her. "That doesn't mean there's anything wrong. Just to be safe, I'll draw some blood, and we can schedule another ultrasound a week or two from now, but right now everything looks as though it's on track."

* * *

><p>After making arrangements for a follow up ultrasound, Brennan headed over to the lab, where she was stunned to see Booth inside her office, deep in conversation with Cam.<p>

He must have waited until she left for her appointment to sneak out of the apartment; annoyed, she stormed in, interrupting without bothering to excuse herself. "What are you doing here, Booth?" she asked him. "You shouldn't be driving yet."

"Oh, hey, Bones," he greeted her casually, as though he hadn't defied several doctor's orders to be there. "I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help."

"You haven't been reinstated yet," she reminded him. "You're still on disability." It would be at least another two or three weeks before the FBI would even consider allowing him to return to duty, and then only after he had passed his physical and psychological evaluations.

"This is my case," he insisted, his own temper flaring in reaction to hers.

"No, it isn't, Booth," she felt the need to point out. "Not anymore. It was reassigned to Agent Shaw after Broadsky shot you."

In her anger, Brennan had almost forgotten that they weren't alone. Behind her, Cam cleared her throat, evidently uncomfortable at being caught in the middle of their lover's quarrel. "I'm gonna go," she said, gesturing to the door.

Booth waited until she was out of earshot to hiss, "Why are you acting like this, Bones?"

"Like what? How am I acting, Booth?" Brennan demanded, a little too loudly. "Like your partner?"

"My partner would support me," he retorted.

He was the one acting like a petulant child. "I do support you, Booth." Hadn't she just put her own life on hold to take care of him while he recovered?

"Then why are you trying to keep me off this case?"

"Last time you went after Broadsky he tried to kill you and he almost succeeded," she reminded him. He might not care about that but she did.

"But he didn't," he pointed out. "He could have killed me and he didn't. Why didn't he kill me, Bones?" he asked, his expression troubled.

"You got lucky, Booth," she told him, impatient to move off the subject. "The only reason you're still alive is because the bullet missed your pulmonary artery."

"Broadsky doesn't miss," he insisted. "He was taunting me. He wanted me to see that he could do it."

"Taunting you? Why would you say that?" she asked, frustrated with the turn their argument was taking. Why did he have to keep torturing himself with this case? Why couldn't he just let someone else handle it?

"He came to my apartment," he confessed quietly.

"Who?" she asked, no longer sure she was following him.

"Broadsky," he explained. "He told me he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if I didn't let it go."

She drew in a sharp breath. "When did this happen?" she pressed. She had been careful never to leave him alone for more than a few hours at a time, and then only during the day while she was at work. How could Broadsky have gotten in and out of his apartment without her knowing about it?

He hesitated for a moment before answering. "It was after Paula Ashwaldt killed herself."

"That was months ago, Booth!" she cried, exasperated. "Why didn't you tell me?" There was no way she would have let him confront Broadsky if she had known, which in hindsight, she realised, was exactly why he had neglected to mention it at the time.

"I didn't wanna worry you."

"So instead you went out and got yourself _shot_?" she cried, unable to keep the hysterical edge out of her tone. "I can't believe you kept this from me, Booth. We're supposed to be partners."

"We _are_ partners," he assured her hastily. "At work and at home."

"Well, then how would you feel if someone threatened me and I hid it from you?"

"That's different," he insisted.

"How?" she demanded. "Because I'm a woman?"

"I was just trying to protect you."

"You say that, but we both know that that's not true," she told him coolly. "You knew I would want you to report it to the FBI, and that they would take you off the case, so you lied to me."

"Hold on just a second there, Bones," he said, throwing his hands up in a placating gesture. "I never lied to you."

"Yes, you did, by _omission_," she complained, not caring that she was guilty of the same thing herself. "Omitting a significant detail like that is still lying, Booth." She blinked at him through a sheen of tears brought on by the lethal combination of stress, fear and hormones.

He was gaping at her as though she had sprouted a second head. "What is going on with you, Bones?" he asked, sounding taken aback by what he must have deemed her gross overreaction. She could tell what he was thinking: they fought all the time, but never like this. At least not since getting together. "When I was in hospital – even after Broadsky shot me – you promised you would help me and now, what, you've changed your mind? I don't understand why you won't get behind me on this. This is what we do."

She knew him well enough to know that if he was determined to go down that path again, putting himself back in Broadsky's crosshairs, there wasn't anything she could do to stop him, so she seized on the one thing that might convince him to think about what he was doing. "I'm pregnant."

* * *

><p><em>Cruel, I know, but it worked for Hart Hanson, right? Although fortunately, since chapter 9 is mostly written, you guys won't have to wait five months to find out what happens next. ;)<em>


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you to everyone who's still with me. Without any further ado, I give you the eagerly-awaited chapter 9. ;)_

* * *

><p>Chapter 9.<p>

Booth opened his mouth to speak but the words died on his lips. "What?"

"I'm pregnant," Brennan repeated in case he hadn't understood her.

"I heard what you said," he admitted. "I just… Are you sure?"

His stunned expression made it impossible to determine if he wanted her to be or not, so she settled for just telling the truth. "Yes. I had an ultrasound this morning to confirm it."

"Is it…? I mean, am I…? We only… once." There was a waver in his voice, as though he wasn't certain he wanted to know the answer.

"You're asking if you're the father?" She tried not to take offense at the question. It was, after all, reasonable for him to seek confirmation from her given that their sexual history was limited to a single encounter.

He looked relieved that he didn't have to be the one to spell this out. "Yeah."

"Yes," she agreed. In case he still had any doubts about this, she added, "There hasn't been anyone else."

"Wow," he said, easing himself down onto the couch. He laced his fingers together under his chin, staring at a spot on the rug. "How did this even happen?"

"I must have been ovulating when we had intercourse. When you—"

"I get _how_ it happened," he assured her before she could launch into a detailed explanation of the mechanics of human conception. "What I mean is, how we could _let_ it happen?"

"We didn't take any precautions," she reminded him quietly, sitting down beside him. Contraception hadn't been high on their list of priorities at the time; ironic given how things had turned out.

His head shot up in surprise. "What d'you mean we didn't take any precautions? Weren't you…?"

She shook her head, her face heating up with the same combination of shame and embarrassment that she had experienced earlier at the doctor's office. "Before we spent the night together, I hadn't been sexually active in almost two years. There was no reason for me to use birth control while I was in the Maluku Islands, and since I wasn't interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with anyone after I got back..."

"God, Bones, why didn't you tell me?" There was no accusation in his tone. If anything, he sounded just as guilty as she felt.

"You never asked."

"I didn't think I needed to. If I'd known you were off the pill, I could've taken care of it."

"You're upset," she observed, afraid that bringing her pregnancy into their fight had been a mistake. This wasn't how she imagined the conversation going, or maybe it was, and that was why she had avoided having it for this long.

"I'm not upset, Bones," he argued. "I'm just a little overwhelmed. You've gotta admit, the timing couldn't be worse with me getting shot and Broadsky still out there..."

"You think I should terminate the pregnancy?" she supplied, wondering if she had been too quick to assume that once he got over the initial shock he would embrace it with the same enthusiasm that she had.

"Whoa! No!" he insisted, his obvious horror at the idea allaying the worst of her fears. "I would never ask you to do something like that. Not unless that's what _you_ want?" he added hastily.

"No," she assured him. "I've given it a lot of thought, and despite the fact that it's not an ideal time in our lives or in our relationship to begin procreating, I can't imagine not giving birth to this child."

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that," he told her, his mouth quirking with the beginnings of a smile. "So let's do it. Let's have a baby."

She felt the tension that she had been carrying around for days start to drain out of her. "Really?"

"Why not?" he agreed as if it really were that simple. "You're already pregnant so it's not like we would actually have to _do_ anything, just, y'know, _not_ do anything…"

"So you're saying we should do nothing? Just allow the embryo to grow?" She averted her eyes to her lap, the corners of her mouth twisting into a sly smile.

"Yeah," he agreed, grinning at her when she looked back up at him. "What d'you think?"

"I think that that is a terrible idea," she told him, but she couldn't help returning his grin. She doubted they could have come up with a more irresponsible plan for how to handle the situation. The entire notion of deciding to have a child by default was juvenile – completely absurd and irrational – and yet she couldn't be happier if they had actually planned it.

"I know!" He looked positively gleeful. "Worst idea ever."

"It would be foolish to even consider bringing a baby into our lives right now," she agreed, struggling to contain her own laughter at the insanity of this plan.

Booth sobered as the reality of what she was saying sunk in. "A baby, Bones," he repeated in an awed whisper. "We're having a baby."

"Technically I'm the one having the baby," she corrected him.

"You might be the one carrying it, but this baby is ours – yours and mine," he reminded her. "That means that _we_ are having a baby. _Our_ baby."

"Our baby," she repeated, amazed at the effect this tiny phrase had on her. "I like the sound of that."

He pressed his palm to the spot where their child was growing, the other cupping her cheek as he lent in to kiss her sweetly. "Me too," he told her.

* * *

><p>That night, as they settled into bed, Booth's hand found its way back to Brennan's stomach.<p>

"You realise the embryo is the size of a grain of sand at this point?" she teased him without looking up from the science journal she was perusing. "It will be at least three months before either of us can feel anything."

"I just can't believe there's a baby in there," he told her. She lowered the journal, watching him as he pushed the covers down and separated her shirt from her pyjama bottoms so that he could study her body just like she had when she first learned of her pregnancy. "Does anyone else know?"

"Only Angela. She knew before I did," she admitted. "I'm having another ultrasound next week. Would you like to come?"

He let her shirt fall back down. "Already? Everything is okay, right? You would tell me if it wasn't?"

"Of course," she agreed could fret too much. "It's just a precaution. It was too early to see anything besides the gestational sac today. The doctor thinks the heartbeat might be visible next time."

His face lit up into an ecstatic grin. "In that case, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

She gave up on trying to read, setting the journal on the nightstand and turning off the bedside lamp. "You almost did," she reminded him, snuggling into his warmth. A few inches to the left and he would have missed everything.

"I know," he agreed quietly as though he had been thinking the same thing. "I'm so sorry, Bones."

"You don't have to be sorry, Booth." It was over now. All that mattered was that he had survived.

"Yes, I do," he argued. "I almost died while you were pregnant."

"Technically it can take anywhere up to five days for conception to occur," she corrected him as if this distinction might have changed the outcome.

"But it still would have happened, right, even if I wasn't around? You still would have gotten pregnant," he insisted.

Ever since Angela had raised the possibility, Brennan had been trying hard not to think about what it would have felt like to find out after he was gone. It was too painful to imagine him not being there, first through her pregnancy and then throughout their child's life. She lifted her head, pressing a soft kiss to the pulse point on his throat as if to remind herself that he was still alive. "Yes."

"So then you were pregnant," he finished. He was quiet for a long time and then he said, "I have to let this go, don't I? The case."

"You really think you can do that? Walk away?" she asked him, trying not to sound too hopeful. She didn't want to push too hard and risk damaging their relationship, but at the same time, she wasn't sure she could continue to support him in a pursuit that could end with her raising their child alone. "You seemed pretty determined before."

He ran a hand tiredly over his face. "I don't really have a choice. I can't afford to get shot again – not when you and I are about to have a baby. I mean, it was bad enough before, when I only had Parker to think about, but now… Bones, if I had died that day, I never would have even known that this kid existed. I don't want her to have to grow up without a dad, like I did."

If they talked about Broadsky any more tonight she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. "You should get some rest," she told him. "We can discuss it some more tomorrow."

"I thought you would be happy," he asked her. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"It is," she admitted, resigning herself to the fact that they were going to keep having this conversation whether she liked it or not, "but it worries me that if you do give up the case because of this, a day might come when you start to resent me and our child."

"I could never resent you, Bones," he assured her. He caressed her stomach lovingly. "You or our daughter."

Somehow he seemed to have gotten it into his head that she was carrying a girl. "Our child doesn't even have external genitalia yet, Booth," she complained, pushing herself up onto one elbow so that she could look at him. "How can you possibly know that it's female? Let me guess…" She cocked her head to one side, pretending to think about this for a second, "…your gut told you?"

"Not only does it tell me that we're having a girl," he agreed with an impish grin, "but that she's gonna be beautiful just like her mom."

She wondered if she would ever get used to being the object of his adoration. "Aww," she hummed, rewarding him with a tender kiss.

Just when she was about to break it, he startled her by rolling them over playfully so that her body was pinned beneath his.

"Booth!"

"What?" he grunted, too busy nuzzling her throat to manage more than one syllable.

"Stop it, Booth," she laughed. He was too preoccupied to acknowledge her so she craned her neck away where he couldn't reach it. "I'm serious, Booth. You need to rest."

"Shouldn't it be me telling you that?" he teased her, relenting for the moment. "You're the one who's pregnant."

"Yes, but I'm not the one who had surgery."

He huffed out a theatrical sigh. "Bones, I'm trying to make love to the mother of my child and you are ruining the mood."

She decided to humour him by allowing him to kiss her heatedly for a few moments before she raised her objections again. "We shouldn't be doing this," she told him when she finally worked up the resolve to push him away. "You haven't been cleared for this kind of activity."

"I know," he agreed, "but right now I don't care."

He resumed kissing the underside of her jaw, then her neck, then the little hollow at the base of her throat. "We have to be really careful."

"We will," he agreed, his voice muffled by her skin.

"I mean it, Booth. You can't overexert yourself."

"I won't."

"Then we'll both rest," she told him, closing her eyes.

"Okay."

* * *

><p><em>Have we heard the last of Broadsky or is this just the quiet before the storm?<em>


	10. Chapter 10

_I know, I know - it's been too long! You can blame all the usual suspects: RL, the hiatus, etc. Thanks once again to everyone for their support, especially Dee47 for giving me a much needed kick up the backside. ;)  
><em>

* * *

><p>Chapter 10.<p>

Booth had every intention of keeping his promise to Brennan, but letting go of the Broadsky case and everything it symbolised wasn't as easy as he'd made it sound.

That was why he found himself storming into Sweets' office barely a week later, when she thought he was at home catching up on daytime soaps.

"I need you to sign these," Booth ordered him, dropping a handful of papers onto the desk in front of him.

Sweets shot him a quizzical glance as he picked them up."This says you're mentally fit to return to active duty," he read, looking surprised.

"And you're my shrink," Booth agreed, "so what's the problem?"

"The _problem, _Agent Booth," Sweets began seriously, laying the document neatly back on his desk, "is that you haven't attended a single counselling session since your shooting. How do I know you're not experiencing Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

"I'm not," Booth assured him quickly. "It's not like I haven't been shot before."

"Okay," Sweets agreed, folding his hands to signify that Booth had his full attention. "So convince me and I'll sign whatever you want."

Booth rolled his eyes heavenward, huffing out an exasperated sigh."Fine," he said, pulling up the nearest chair. "What do you want to know?"

"Does your impatience to be reinstated have anything to do with the fact that Jacob Broadsky has been identified as a suspect in a recent homicide?"

Of course he just had to go there. "You know, you sound just like Bones," Booth complained. He had expected a little more understanding from the rest of his colleagues; after all, no one had tried to keep Brennan from working her parents' case.

"So you're saying Dr. Brennan has expressed concern about your readiness to return to work?" Sweets repeated, frowning at him. "Does she know you're here talking to me about this right now?"

"No, and you are not going to tell her, okay?" Booth insisted, his eyes flashing a warning.

"Why not?" Sweets pressed.

"Because she's pre…" Booth caught himself before he spilled the beans about Brennan's pregnancy. They weren't ready to start telling people yet: not until they were sure that both she and the baby were healthy, and they'd had time to figure out some of the finer details, like where they were all going to live. "Prejudiced," he finished lamely.

He should have known the psychologist wouldn't be able to let that go without comment. "That's an odd choice of word," he pointed out.

"Don't do that," Booth snapped.

"Do what?"

"Read into everything I say."

"You're very defensive."

"Yeah? Well being evaluated does that to you," Booth retorted.

"How about we make a deal?" Sweets offered and Booth's heart leapt until he added, "You attend six weekly counselling sessions with me, and if at the end of that time, I'm satisfied that you aren't suffering any negative psychological effects as a result of your shooting, I'll give my full recommendation that they reinstate you to active duty – provided that your physical injuries are sufficiently healed."

"Six weeks?!" What if, in that time, Broadsky killed someone else? Or worse, targeted Booth's team again? Worst of all, what if he came after Parker, or more likely, Brennan? "This is my case, Sweets," Booth insisted. "I need to be back at work tomorrow."

"You got shot in the chest, Agent Booth," Sweets reminded him patiently, refusing to be swayed by Booth's anger. "It's doubtful that the FBI will allow you to return to field duty any sooner than that." He opened his notepad to a fresh page. "Now, let's start with how you've been sleeping. Have you had any nightmares since the shooting?"

* * *

><p>"How're my favourite squint and squint-to-be?" Booth greeted his partner, who was hard at work in her office.<p>

"Booth," she complained, tilting her head and fixing him with her best disapproving girlfriend look.

"You can relax, Bones – I took a cab," he assured her, as though driving would have been the worse of his transgressions today, leaning across her desk to plant a chaste kiss on her mouth. He kissed her a second time for good measure. "I thought I'd save you the trip across town and come early so we had time to grab some lunch before your appointment."

After waging an internal debate with himself, Booth had decided against filling her in on his meeting with Sweets. He told himself it was because he didn't want to stress her out this early in her pregnancy and risk potential harm to the baby, when in truth, his motives were much more selfish than that.

Fortunately for him, she didn't seem to find anything suspicious about his behaviour. "Good," she said, standing up and gathering the folders she was examining into a tidy pile. "Because in addition to having to urinate all the time, I find that I'm constantly hungry, even if I do end up vomiting up most of what I eat."

His mildly horrified look caused her to frown. "Was that too much information?" she asked.

Maybe just a little, he agreed silently.

"You probably don't want to hear about vomiting or urination when we've only just begun dating," she continued with a worried expression.

Or you know, ever, he thought."It's fine, Bones," he lied. He was the one who told her he wanted to be involved every step of the way. "Pregnancy is a beautiful thing."

It was her turn to wrinkle her nose in distaste. "Actually, it's quite unpleasant," she admitted. "I can see why Angela is so eager to give birth."

Booth hated the thought of her being so uncomfortable, but he had to remind himself that it wasn't without a reward, for either of them. He walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist in a comforting hug. "It'll all be worth it in the end," he assured her. "You'll see. You are gonna love being a mom – taking her to museums and teaching her all those science-y things that just go over my head."

She settled back into his embrace, rewarding him with a rare dreamy smile. "I know," she agreed.

* * *

><p>Booth continued to marvel over the filmy print out the sonographer had given them as he and Brennan left the clinic.<p>

"Her first picture. I am gonna frame this and put it on my desk, right next to the one of Parker," he announced.

"But you can't even tell what it is," Brennan protested.

"Of course you can," he insisted, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. He squinted at it, pointing to a light smudge near the centre that he assumed must be the baby. "Look, there she is right there."

"That's your fingerprint," Brennan argued, taking it from him. She wiped it carefully on her shirt, holding it up to show him that the mark was gone. "See? The embryo is over here."

"Why do you always have to do that?" he complained. So what if he was getting a little excited? He had every right to be.

"Do what?" she asked innocently.

"Pick apart everything I say. Can't you just be happy with me? We're having a baby – a strong, healthy,_ perfect_ baby." Okay, maybe that last part was a slight embellishment of the sonographer's words, but he was sure that that was what she'd meant.

Brennan cringed, flashing him an apologetic smile. "Sorry. It was pretty amazing, wasn't it?" she agreed, leaning her head against his so that she could study the print out with him. "I'm glad you were there to hear it with me."

The significance of this statement wasn't lost on Booth; he forced himself to push his guilt at breaking his promise to her aside and just focus on being in the moment with her.

"Me too." He pressed a lingering kiss to her hair. "I love you, Bones."

Her face lit up into one of the sweetest smiles he had ever seen. "I love you too, Booth."

But before he could kiss her again, properly this time, the message tone on her cell chimed and she straightened, digging the phone out of her purse.

"What?" he demanded impatiently as soon as she opened the text. "Does someone have a lead on Broadsky?"

She shook her head to dismiss his question, holding her hand up for silence while she finished reading. "We have to get to the hospital," he told him finally, looking up at him in alarm.

"Why? Is there something wrong with the baby?" he asked her. Surely they would have told them at the appointment if there was?

"No, our child is fine," she assured him. "At least as far as I know. That was Wendell. Angela is in labour."


End file.
